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6rookie-writer0110 · 3 years ago

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Heaven is not waiting for me anymore

Clark Kent x Male!Reader Kent

Request - where y/n is the son of Clark and Lois from the injustice universe. He has kryptonite in his system where he is unable to use his powers because clark (injustice) made an example of him so he can show fear. After that he has been cold to others and distance with people including Barbara who he has feelings for but so much has happened. So he has to relay on martial art from training. with bruce, he also has a bat suit. He also have a deep hatred for his father (injustice superman).

Earth 2- Injustice Universe

You lost your mother Lois because of the Joker. Your father Clark snapped, he became a different person. Now he is starting to kill criminals and doesn't care about anyone or you. He doesn't stand for hope anymore now he stands for destruction. You feel that you lost both of your parents, you don't wear the symbol of hope anymore.

You made a plan to stop your father. You didn't think fully out the plan, but you have kryptonite inside a gun. You are half Kryptonian and kryptonite is still your weakness.

You have been tracking your father, he is about to kill a criminal robbing a bank. But you stepped in and punched him in the face. Everyone saw what you did, they take out their phones and start to record. Now you and Clark start to fight each other.

“You are destroying everything! You are no god!!” You yelled.

“I am a God. Everyone bows down to me and you would bow down to me” Clark said.

You take out the gun, you pulled the trigger. But he used speed to grab the gun and there is one bullet left. Now he will make sure everyone will watch what he will do next. He has his hand around your throat, you are struggling to breathe and tears go down your face.

“Anyone who tries to disobey me or think they can kill me, this will happen!” Clark yelled.

He aimed the gun on your chest and pulled the trigger. Everyone is in shock at what happened, he throws you to the ground. You are in pain and you try to use your powers but can't. Barbara arrived at the scene, she used Batarang to distract him. He left and Barbara picked you up and takes you to the bat cave.

---

A week later...

You have been in a coma for a week, Barbara and Bruce have been taking care of you. You wake up and you see Barbara looking at a computer screen.

“What happened?” You asked.

She turns around and walked towards you.

“You have been in a coma for a week. The kryptonite was close to your heart. You lost a lot of blood and it was too much kryptonite in your system” Barbara said.

You touch your chest and you see the scar. You sighed and she gives you a cup of water.

“Thank you, Barbara. But I have to go” You said.

“Your father thinks you are dead. Don't do anything stupid, you almost died and if it happens again he would kill you” Barbara said.

“He needs to be stopped,” You said.

“I know. But he is stronger than you, you are thinking reckless” Barbara said.

You take out the iv from your arms and take off the hospital gown. She gave you a hoodie and sweat pants.

“Where are you going?” Barbara asked.

“Dont worry about me,” You said.

She watched you walk away and she called Bruce and told him what happened. You went to a rundown motel and you want to be alone. Your father thinks you're dead and he is still killing criminals, no one can stop him.

Days went by, you didn't leave the motel room for anything. Barbara didn't check up on you, she wanted to give you space. And she has been busy with Bruce designing a suit.

You are in bed watching tv, you hear a knock on the door but you don't get up. She starts to knock louder, but you don't move.

“Y/n! Open the door now” Barbara yelled.

You sighed heavily then got out of bed and opened the door.

“What!?” You yelled.

“Are you done with the pity party!?” Barbara asked.

“How did you find me?” You asked.

She walks in and you closed the door. The motel room is a dump.

“Wasn't hard. I put a tracker on the hoodie you left with. I know you still want to stop your dad, so come with me” Barbara said.

“Why should I? Plus he still thinks I'm dead” You said.

“To train. You are still weak if you went to fight him now well he will break like a stick” Barbara said.

“Fine,” You said.

You leave with Barbara, she took you to Bruce’s mansion. You and Barbara have feelings for each other, you told her, and you were going to ask her out but tragically struck. Her feelings for you haven't changed but she wants to be there for you. She wants you to open up to her but you won't.

“Y/n, how are you,” Bruce said.

“Why do you want me here?” You asked.

“To help you train and stop your father,” Bruce said.

“Okay,” You said.

---

Bruce and Barbara started to train with you in Martial arts. Today you are fighting against Bruce, Barbara, and the League of Assassins. Some are friends with Bruce and they agreed to train you. They are pushing your limits, they don't let you rest. Any mistake you make will let you know and make you train harder.

During the night, Bruce is training you with weapons. Barbara shows you how to use the weapons, you did struggle to fight with weapons. Bruce and the league of assassins easily knocked the weapons out of your hands.

After training Barbara would want to spend time with you, but you would lock yourself in the bedroom. She gives you space and she goes back to the bat cave.

“Here is your dinner, master y/n,” Alfred said.

“Thank you. You don't have to call me ‘master’, Alfred” You said.

“Master, y/n you shouldn't hide from the world. Yes, you are going through a tough time but that doesn't mean you can't be happy in the end. You should let yourself grieve for your mother, she was a wonderful woman and she was strong” Alfred said.

“I wish everything didn't change,” You said.

“We all feel the same way. But now you have a chance to create the life you want a new one. what would your mother say right now?” Alfred said.

What made you think what he said, he walks out of the room. You start to eat the food and keep thinking about what he said.

✯ ✬ ✫ ✬

A few weeks later...

Bruce and Barbara have been designing a suit for you. They finished with the suit and they watched you test out the suit. Last few weeks, you were training from dawn until the next day. You mastered fighting with weapons and learned new combat moves. You are still distant from Barbara, two days ago you got into a huge argument with her.

You are still in love with her but you want to protect her from your father. You don't want to see Barbara get hurt.

“What do you think of the suit?” Barbara asked.

You take off the helmet.

“I like it and I can move in it,” You said.

“You are okay with the symbol?” Bruce asked.

“I like it,” You said.

The suit is all black, the Batman symbol is red, the eyes are red, the gloves have sharp claws, and the suit protects you from kryptonite. Barbara and Bruce start to suit and you put the helmet back on.

---

You three found Bruce in the city, you stopped him from killing someone.

“Son, you came back from the dead” Clark said.

“This ends today,” You said.

“I see you are wearing a new symbol -”

“You ruined the legacy of being a Kryptonian!” You yelled.

He used heat vision to attack you but you dodged it. Now Clark is fighting you while Barbara and Bruce are trying to get the citizens away from the fight. Clark punched you and you hit the ground, he used speed to grab you by the neck.

“This time I will make sure you are dead,” Clark said.

“You are not the same father that I used to have. He is dead to me!” You yelled.

You took out, you tased him, and he lets you go. You and Clark used heat vision at the same time, you used more strength to not fall. You throw Batarang at him and it started to explode.

He fell then you start to punch him in the face over and over. All the anger you have for him starts to come out. You take out the kryptonite dagger and you try to stab but he has his wrapped around your hands.

“Y/n! Y/n don't kill him” Barbara yelled.

“He deserves to die!” You yelled.

“That is an easy escape for him! You are much better than him, don't become like him” Barbara said.

Something clicked in your mind.

“I want you to suffer until the day you die. I lost my mom and my father” You said.

You moved away from him and he starts to stand up. Bruce played a video of Lois on the big screen and starts to watch, you your father cry.

The moment where Clark held Lois before she died.

“I can't lose you” Clark cried.

“I will always love you, Clark. I will always remember you and y/n, please be there for each other. He is going need to you. Tell him, I love him...”

You start to cry and it would be the last time you hear her voice.

“Son, I am sorry for the chaos I caused,” Clark said.

“I don't believe you and I will never will. You killed my friend Shazam and many others. You are lucky I didn't kill you because of Barbara. This is the last time you will see me” You said.

You take out the Phantom Zone projector and you sent him to the Phantom Zone.

✯ ✬ ✫ ✬

Time Skip...

You and Barbara became an official couple. She makes you happy and you carrying boxes into her apartment. You are going to live with her and she is very happy about that.

You and Barbara sat on the couch and she gave you a peck on the lips.

“So happy that was the last box,” Barbara said.

“Now we have to unbox everything,” You said.

“How about we go get something to eat and we do it later?” Barbara said.

You kissed her on the lips.

“Sounds good to me,” You said.

Later, you and Barbara spend half of the night unboxing everything. You did use speed to do it faster which Barbara is happy about. You and Barbara would save the city together but you don't kill criminals who rob a store. You would kill if it's a life and death situation only.

#x male reader #male!reader #dc imagine #superman imagine #superman x son #x son #Clark Kent x son #clark kent x male!reader #clark kent x reader

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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

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King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

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iphoenixrising · 3 years ago

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DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.

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echoghost1 · 3 years ago

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Going Angst Day 2021 Day 02: Instincts

Title: Protective Equipment

Word Count: 2049

Characters: Danny Fenton, Maddie Fenton, The Fenton Portal

Summary: Danny is doing his chores in the lab when he makes a discovery about the portal.

After way longer than I would have like I can finally say I finished this prompt!

You can read it on AO3 or down below the cut as always!

"Danny, have you done your chores yet?" His mom asked as he walked past the kitchen doorway on the way to his room.

He paused, his foot hovering just above the bottom step.

"I'm guessing by your silence, that's a ‘no’?" She guessed correctly.

He sighed and turned on his heel so he could now head down instead of up a set of stairs.

"On it," he called as he walked past her in the kitchen.

"Thank you!" She called back as she continued to chop up vegetables, "Dinner will be ready in about 30 minutes so don't dilly dally down there."

Danny rolled his eyes, mostly because she couldn't see him, as he agreed. He hoped the lab wasn't too messy today, otherwise, he'd actually have to work.

He did a quick once over of the room and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't too bad. He started by gathering all the dirty beakers and test tubes and setting them next to the sink. Then he put on gloves before he filled the sink with water and the Fenton Ecto-Scrub because he did not want to feel that particular brand of skin melting burning ever again.

Sometimes his parents' anti-ghost stuff worked a little too well.

He carefully set the glassware into the cleaner-filled sink, set a timer for ten minutes, and then went to scrub the counters.

Once all of that was clean he made sure all the trash was in the can and then it was on to sweeping.

He paused for a moment as he grabbed the broom because he had the oddest feeling that he wasn't alone. His ghost sense hadn't gone off, and he didn't hear anyone come downstairs either, and yet he still felt like there were eyes on him.

He grabbed the broom and did his best to turn around casually, in case there was someone or something there.

There was no one.

"Huh, weird," he said to himself when there was nothing out of place.

Despite knowing he was alone, he still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

He tried to ignore it and just finish his chores but it was persistent.

With a sigh, he stopped what he was doing, “Look, I know you’re there, just say something already.”

He turned around towards the source of his feeling and found there was still nothing out of place. Just the gentle swirl of the portal.

He sighed and felt pretty stupid talking to no one.

Since it was nothing he turned back around to finish up sweeping.

Then he stopped cold.

The portal wasn’t open before.

Very slowly he turned around and then walked over to the control panel.

It was probably just a faulty switch or something. Maybe he should mention that to his mom at dinner.

It would be great if fixing that led to fewer ghosts bothering him during the day. And all hours of the night. Or at any time at all.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, “Stop daydreaming and just hit the button.”

With the broom in his right hand, he went to hit the button with his left.

He hesitated; the last time he hit a button connected to the portal…

He held the broom with both hands and looked back at the open portal.

It was probably fine that it was open. There wasn’t anything coming out of it and besides if anything tried he was right there. He could just push it back in.

It was fine.

He would just close it before he left. Maybe wear some rubber gloves, just in case.

He was glad no one else was down there to see him freaking out like this.

He turned his back to the portal once again and finished up his chores. Pointedly ignoring the feeling of being watched.

He just kept reminding himself not to be so paranoid.

It was fine.

He was fine.

There was no one there.

He finished his chores and was putting the broom away when he heard it.

It was a voice.

Distinctly female, but it wasn’t anyone he knew.

It said his name.

This was obviously a ghost. Right?

Even if it hadn’t set his ghost sense off.

Yet?

He didn’t like being messed with, so he spun around with his fists raised, “Where are you?” he demanded with much more confidence than he actually felt.

“I’m right in front of you,” she answered calmly.

There was no one there. It was just the empty lab and the open portal.

“Are you invisible?” he asked, slowly lowering his arms and relaxing his fists.

“No.”

“Are you in the ghost zone?”

“Yes and no,” she answered with what sounded like a smile. Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew she was. It was like making someone smile over the phone.

“Wait, how can you be both in and out at the same time?”

“I think you know,” she replied.

At first, he thought she was being cryptic, but the more he thought about it he realized she wasn’t. She wanted him to figure it out, she gave him all the clues he needed; he just wasn’t putting them together right.

And she thought that he could. That he would figure it out.

He had to figure this out because he needed to know. There was no other reason.

He didn’t want to disappoint her.

He had to go over what he knew; what clues she gave him already.

She wasn’t invisible but she was both in and out of the ghost zone. She said she was right in front of him.

But the only thing in front of him was…

Oh!

Oh?

No.

No?

“Are you,” he hesitated, he was going to feel really dumb if he was wrong.

But what else was there?!

“Are you the portal?”

“Yes.”

“You can talk?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

“How?”

“I wanted to. So I did.”

“Oh,” well it was hard to argue with that.

“Admittedly it took longer than I would have liked.”

“Yeah, I heard English is hard to learn,” he said, still in awe that the portal was both alive and talking to him.

“You could say that.”

Their conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence. Danny wasn’t sure why or how, but talking to the portal felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“Would it be alright if I touched you?”

He couldn’t think of a reason why not, so he agreed.

One of the swirling green tendrils darkened slightly as it uncurled from the vortex and peeled away from the surface towards him. He reached his own hand out to meet her halfway.

It didn’t feel like ectoplasm normally did, but it was still somehow familiar. It was soft and airy like cotton candy but it buzzed with energy and had a weight to it that he couldn’t quite find the words for.

It reminded him of his ghost tail.

The tendril-like arm coiled around his but never tightened. Another arm reached out and wrapped around his waist while he wasn’t paying attention.

The only reason he did notice it was because he suddenly felt so content.

A hug. She was giving him a hug.

He hugged back as best he could.

This felt so nice. How long had it been since he got a hug that he hadn't started?

Then softly, in the midst of their embrace, she whispered, “I’m so glad you made it.”

He pulled back slightly unsure what she was talking about.

“When we met. It wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

Oh.

“I was so worried. You were so small, so young.” One of her arms, a third one, was smoothing back his hair before gently caressing his cheek. “It was hurting you, so I erased your ending.”

Danny didn’t understand exactly what that meant but it sounds like she’s the reason he has ghost powers.

When he asks if that’s true, she agreed.

“You’ve known me for so long and I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m not the sort of thing that has a name.”

He wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. Didn’t everyone have a name?

He figured he should try another question instead, “So what are we to each other?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my parents made you, so,” he was going to add to that but she quickly interrupted.

“No!”

“No?”

Why was she so against that?

“They did not make me. They only made an anchor. I have existed here long before they came here and I will continue to exist long after they are gone.”

Well, that was a lot more cryptic than he was expecting.

The tension in the air relaxed again as she picked him up off of the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just,” she paused with a sigh.

Danny did his best not to think too hard about how odd it was for a being with no body to sigh in the first place.

Before the portal could explain, the sound of footsteps down the stairs interrupted them.

“Danny? Are you still,” his mom stopped mid-sentence when she reached the bottom step.

She reached for her holster where she normally kept her ecto-gun but found nothing. She cursed under her breath and started looking around the lab for something to use.

Of course, she didn’t have any weapons on her. Jazz had finally been able to convince them to stop having ghost hunting equipment in the kitchen. She was able to convince them by using facts about how it’s better to have designated places to do things instead of just doing whatever wherever.

Danny liked it because that meant he was less likely to get shot or tased while eating.

“Mom, I’m okay!” He tried to explain as she desperately tried to find something.

Unfortunately for her, Danny had just put everything away.

Or at least, he thought he had.

The Ecto-Scrub.

He forgot to put it away!

She ripped the top open and flung the contents at the portal.

In the back of his mind, he knew she was doing this because she thought she was protecting him. When she came down into the lab and saw her son being held up in the air by multiple green tentacle-like arms that were coming out of an open gateway to another dimension full of ghosts, full of monsters, it only made sense for her to use what she had. It made sense that she tossed something that was only going to hurt ghosts because it wasn’t supposed to work on him.

It didn’t stop it from hurting though.

He was quick enough to cover his face but the raw cleaner on his bare arms was excruciating. The first time he had touched it was after it had been mixed with water.

He wasn’t even in ghost form, why did it hurt so much?

He didn't notice how badly he was screaming until he heard glass breaking.

All those beakers and vials he had made sure were clean, now shattered.

All that time was wasted.

He felt the arms of the portal wrap around him, her touch so cool and gentle against the sharp burning on his arms. “It’s alright,” she said as she pulled him slowly closer, “I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

“What?”

Why did that sound so ominous?

The next thing he knew he was covered in more arms from the portal. They covered him completely and pulled him back before he could even fully process what was happening.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

================================================

Maddie slammed her fist on the dashboard of the Specter Speeder as another quadrant came up empty.

She had searched far and wide for her baby boy but kept coming up empty. She watched him get pulled into the portal and yet he was nowhere to be found.

Even with Jazz filling them in on his secret ghost identity, she still had nothing.

They used the boomerang but all it did was go into the portal and disappear.

Just like he did.

She should have known something was wrong sooner.

Wasn’t that what a mother’s intuition was for?

#Danny Phantom #going angst week 2021 #Day 02 Instincts #Phan Fic #My writing #Danny Fenton #Maddie Fenton #The Fenton Portal #Sentient Portal #Angst #Ambiguous/Open Ending

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pretchatta · 4 years ago

Text

swoon june day 15: masquerade

this wasn't supposed to be one of the mature ones but I think it's ended up being too suggestive to call it teen. oops.

rating: mature; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2.1k words

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For most beings, traveling inconspicuously meant wearing more clothes. A cloak, a hood or a full-face helmet made for a great disguise and could hide a person such that a casual observer wouldn’t look twice.

For Hera Syndulla, the opposite was true.

A twi'lek pilot was a rare sight in the galaxy. While her usual clothes blended in with most of the places she visited, there were always a few double-takes when people noticed her lekku. No-one expected to see a twi’lek in overalls and flying goggles, especially not a woman.

The result was that, for Hera, the easiest way to avoid attention was to remove clothes.

She would swap her cap and goggles for wrapping her lekku, wear something skimpy and revealing, and smear a bit of makeup over her cheeks. It was perfect – everyone looked right past her.

She hated it.

Her chosen aesthetic for today's recon was bar-dancer-on-a-break. Her skintight bodysuit felt like it was more negative space than material, with its low-cut neckline and several geometric shapes cut out of the sides and legs. The evening air was balmy enough that she didn’t need a jacket, and she felt very exposed. The chunky necklace she had accessorised with felt more like a slave collar than jewellery, and she shuddered as she wondered if that was why the look was so popular.

Hera resented the reason why an outfit like this worked so well. Her people had become almost synonymous with slavery, despite their numerous achievements as individuals and as a species. And yet here she was, donning the stereotype like a costume, reinforcing it to anyone who saw her. She just wanted to finish her recon, get back to the Ghost and take the whole lot off. In a normal way, not putting on a show for anyone.

Well, maybe she'd let Kanan watch. He was the only being in the galaxy she trusted to still see her as a real person afterwards. He would also never ask for it. If she ever did something like that for him, it would be because she wanted to do it, and because she knew he would take only what she was willing to give; he wouldn’t ask for more. A year of being more-than-crew had shown her just how selfless a lover he could be.

She shook her head to clear the train of thought as she approached the spaceport. It only took a few moments for her to realise she'd need to use the other advantage the outfit offered to get inside, for the place was crawling with stormtroopers. There had been a few on the main gate when she and Kanan had left earlier that day, but now she could see them patrolling the perimeter in pairs as well as actively checking the IDs of everyone trying to get in.

Hera sighed. She wanted to believe it had nothing to do with Kanan, but her hopes were not high. He was always finding trouble. Still, if she could get back to the Ghost then even if he wasn't able to meet her she could always fly out to his position and save him from whatever hairy situation he would undoubtedly be in.

She made her way around to one of the lesser-used entrances she'd been scouting on her recon, hoping for an easier way inside, but found it also guarded. The surrounding street was empty, however, and she could work with that.

Hera adjusted her well-padded cleavage in preparation for what she was about to do. Taking a deep breath, she fortified herself by squeezing one breast. The hard press of the small blaster tucked amongst the padding – the real reason she’d sewn extra into the bodysuit – reassured her that at least she wasn’t going in unarmed.

The two troopers standing guard noticed her as soon as she stepped into the road. Exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked, she drew her lekku over her shoulders to twirl the end of one between her fingers. The troopers watched her approach.

"It is okay to go into the spaceport?" she asked with wide, innocent eyes. Her old Ryl accent came back to her easily, adding to the charade.

"We have to check your ID before you can go in," said the shorter trooper. He stood perfectly straight, holding his blaster a little higher than his fellow guard, who was leaning against the wall somewhat more casually. Hera guessed the one speaking to her was newer to the ranks of the Imperial army, and she hoped he wasn’t still sticking to the regulations so diligently that he would prevent her from doing what she needed to do.

"Oh… I have left my ID at home today,” she pouted, tilting her chin up and subtly pushing her chest forward. “I only want to visit my sister who runs that little food stand just inside for lunch. I won't be going anywhere – I have only ten minutes left of my break.”

The trooper was shaking his head. “We can’t let you in without ID.”

It would’ve been nice if that alone could have worked, but she hadn’t expected it to. She took a half-step closer to him and lowered her voice to a sultry purr.

“There is no way I could persuade you?”

He shifted nervously. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, glancing at his companion. “Like, credits?”

Another half-step closer, and she managed to tilt her head so that she could look up at his visor through her false eyelashes, even though they were a similar height.

“I don’t have any credits, but I’m sure there is something I can do for you,” she murmured. She was exaggerating the accent, rolling each resh and turning every thesh into a senth.

“Uhh… You – you mean…” he stammered. Hera heard a soft snigger from the other guard. Hopefully he would find this amusing enough to let her drag the rookie around the corner. She only needed to separate them; the rest was easy from there.

She cut him off by pointing down the road. “There’s an alley where I can show you what I mean. I think it even has a clean patch of ground that will not get my knees dirty.”

“Your – your knees–”

"Tell you what, kid,” the taller one said, finally pushing himself upright from the wall. “You watch the door and I'll sort out her payment."

That worked too. It didn’t matter which one went with her; stormtroopers were easy to take down individually when they weren’t expecting an attack.

They left the bewildered rookie to his post as Hera led the more seasoned soldier to the alley she’d pointed to. As they rounded the corner and out of sight of the door, she tossed one lek over her shoulder and turned to face him, breathing in deeply so that her chest rose noticeably. Now she knew where his attention would be focused.

Her fist swung up in a quick jab to his neck. She was aiming for the gap between his helmet and shoulder armour, where a hard enough blow should incapacitate him for at least a few seconds. Her other hand went for his blaster to disarm him.

But he was faster than she anticipated. Much faster; it was almost like he was ready for her. One gloved hand caught her fist, stopping it in its tracks, while the other dropped the blaster to the ground completely. Hera immediately twisted out of his grip and pulled out her own gun. She’d hoped to do this quietly, but making a scene was better than getting arrested.

The trooper quickly stepped back and pulled his helmet off.

“Woah, stop, it’s me!”

Hera was momentarily dumbfounded.

“Kanan?”

“Yes! Could you maybe put that down?” He indicated to her blaster, which was still pointed at his head. She dropped her arm to her side.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, dropping her accent to speak like her usual self again.

Kanan looked sheepish. "Well, I was hoping for a-"

"I mean in stormtrooper armour, guarding the spaceport!” she interrupted. “And do you really think I was going to go through with that? I didn’t even know it was you under there!"

“I thought you’d recognise my voice!” he protested.

She looked at him incredulously. “Not coming from under a bucket! And not when I wasn’t expecting it!”

"Okay, yeah, I realise I maybe didn’t think that one through,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But when I heard they’d increased security I was worried about you, so I was keeping an eye out to make sure you could get back to the Ghost. I thought you'd try one of the side entrances and this was the closest one to where you were going to finish your recon."

She opened her mouth to berate him again but realised it was actually a pretty good plan. Not to mention sweet – it couldn’t have been easy to take that guard’s place. He was lucky to have found one with a rookie for a partner. Maybe he hadn’t caused whatever it was that had got the Imperials worked up, either.

“Alright, your thoughtfulness has redeemed you.” She tucked her blaster back into its hiding place, noticing how his eyes followed her hands for a few moments before snapping back to her face when she continued. “Let’s get out of here.”

"You sure you want to go right now? We’re probably not expected back out there for a while yet..."

She could tell he was at least half-joking.

"Really?” She gave him a raised eyebrow. “I was lying about the clean patch of ground, you know. This alley is filthy, and I want to change."

"Okay, okay, I get it." He at least had the decency to look chastened, but she wasn’t really upset with him. She just wanted to go home.

"Just stun your friend and we can get back to the Ghost, love," she said gently.

He gave her a small smile before putting the helmet back on and retrieving his blaster. A few seconds later she heard the stun blast and followed him back to the road, where he was dragging the rookie’s unconscious body away from the entrance to hide it behind some crates.

Inside the spaceport, no-one stopped them. She was just a citizen with an escort, nothing to worry about. The Ghost was exactly as they’d left it this morning, and Chopper only needed a little encouragement to open up and let Kanan in. When the ramp closed behind them, Hera sighed in relief. It was good to be home.

She had to remind traffic control that she would have already had her ID and intent checked at the entrance to the spaceport. They begrudgingly gave her clearance to take off, and she heaved a deeper sigh as the Ghost entered hyperspace. They were away, no-one was watching her now, and she could be herself again. Kanan and Chopper didn’t count; they both saw her for who she was. They were as much her home as the ship.

Beside her, Kanan pushed himself out of the co-pilot’s chair. "I'm going to get out of this armour, then I'll fix that squeaky vent in the ‘fresher that you've been complaining about."

She heard him cross to the door.

"Oh, Kanan, could you hold on a moment?" she called over her shoulder.

He paused with one hand on the door control. "What is it?"

Hera engaged the autopilot and got out of her chair to slink over to him.

"I know I said I wanted to change, but there’s a problem,” she began, stepping close to him and lightly running a finger over his chestplate. “See, there's a stormtrooper guarding the door, and I need to figure out a way to get past him."

She glanced up at Kanan and saw he was grinning. "Maybe you could offer him something," he suggested.

She pushed herself up onto her toes so that their faces were level, her eyes on his mouth.

“I wonder what he might accept,” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his own.

Then she closed the gap and kissed him with a slow, simmering heat. His arms came up to hold her, one hand stroking along her back. It worked its way around to her side, sliding up until his thumb brushed the side of one breast.

He broke away abruptly with a serious look in his eyes.

“You put the safety on your blaster, right?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Why don’t you check for me?”

His answering grin was accompanied by both hands sliding up her sides, and then he was giving a very thorough and enthusiastic check for hidden weapons.

#kanera #swoonjune2021 #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars: rebels #star wars rebels #pretchwritta #fic #swoon june

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

A Cup of Truth (S.R)

Type: One-shot, a bit of coffee shop AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader Word Count: 3000

Summary: Your favourite pretty blond comes in every day to get a cup of good ol’ joe. You flirt on occasion; mostly you, because your suit of armour – which people boringly call an apron – and his smiles give you confidence.

When the band of dumb goons picks your damn workplace to attack, your confidence flies out of the window. Well. Good thing that the resident Avenger heroes save the day including the one in his all-American star-spangled glory.

Prompt: “You can’t mask that ass. I’d know it anywhere.” (Bold in the text)

Warnings: hostage situation, violence, non-consensual drug use/injected, hospitals, slightly crack-ish humour (?) and some fluff

A/N: For marvelcapsicle’s challenge. Thank you for letting me participate, darling, may you gain more and more sweet followers in the future ♥

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Here’s a thing: Steve Rogers had a lot of fight in him. Before or after injected with the serum, no matter his shirt size, no matter if he could swing his fists effectively or not, he would punch bullies in their face.

When it came to people close to his heart, that rule amplified tenfold. No one touched the people he cared for. And while he would not necessarily call all of them friends, he would go rabid should any harm come their way.

To be fair, the list of ‘his people’ who were still alive wasn’t long; he could almost count them on the fingers of one hand. Tony. Natasha. Clint. Thor. Bruce. Probably Fury. Really, his circle was a bit monotonous, people who could protect themselves just fine at most times, but simultaneously with high-risk job of being the first defence line for the world’s greatest threats.

And then there was you.

You, with your inviting smile whenever he appeared at your counter at the café he had discovered during his endless walks.

You, handing him a drink different to his usual ‘boring’ cup of joe once a week, because that was the deal you had offered and Steve, caught in his curiosity about today’s world and your adorable challenging expression, agreed.

You, with your pretty eyes, irises twinkling at his attempts at flirting, no matter how awkward and out-of-time they sounded, graciously returning the favour… if he was reading the situation right.

You, always grinning wide when discovering a doodle he had left on his napkin, taking it with you back to the counter.

You, blissfully unaware of his double life, genuine in your demeanour, dealing with plain old Steve Rogers, and perfectly safe; at least as safe as one could be on Manhattan.

You in a headlock, as five rogue SHIELD agents decided to crash into the café you worked at of all the damn places, choosing it with deadly precision and nearly driving the poor Captain America into a cardiac arrest.

Not that you had any idea your life mattered to the proclaimed Star-Spangled Man more than anyone else’s. You were the exception to the rule; you were the precious outsider Steve caught feelings for, the one that was not supposed to learn about his other persona for at least a while longer and sure as hell was not supposed to get herself in a mess like this one.

Steve stood frozen as Natasha had two men at gunpoint, Clint fighting another, the last one having been already knocked down by Steve himself. The only injured people were the few customers, scarce at the hour, and the employees; some bruises and insignificant bleeding wounds between all of them.

The worst problem still remained; Perez had his arm around your neck, visibly squeezing your windpipe at least partly if the colour of your face – one stained in tears and Steve could kill at the moment, kill with no remorse – was anything to go by.

He gripped his shield tighter, staring the man down with his jaw clenched and his heart beating its way out of his chest, the syringe at your carotid scaring him more than the reduced airflow to your lungs.

“It’s over, Perez! Let her- let the woman go,” Steve howled, knees slightly bend in posture allowing him to spring forward at any second, to throw his weapon, to punch the living daylight of the bastard that not only betrayed SHIELD, but put his hands on you.

Big, big mistake. He really shouldn’t have done that.

“I like her exactly where she is, Cap,” Perez snarled, a wicked smile on his bloody lips, only his eyes giving away a fraction of his fear. “Move and she gets a ticket straight to hell.”

Perez was outnumbered and he knew it; even if he managed to escape, they would find him easily with Tony Stark’s system of surveillance. Yet, he tightened his grip and with you involuntarily acting like a human shield for him, he started backing away, gaze flickering between the three present Avengers.

Natasha’s right arm twitched as if she wanted to shoot him on spot – but she didn’t want to risk leaving the other two without the threat of immediate death for even a second.

And then several things happened at once; Clint knocked his opponent down with the construction of his bow; Perez who saw it lost his nerve and swiftly slammed the needle into your neck, piercing your skin easily, as easily as Steve’s panicked shout ripped from his throat.

The next second, an arrow was sticking from Perez’ shoulder as he jerked back with a cry of pain and Clint put another arrow through his hand, adding one to his thigh for a good measure. Two gunshots sounded in the background, Natasha’s aim as unmistakable as ever.

Perez fell to the ground with a scream, not even reaching for the gun in his holster before Steve was there to knock him out with a brutal hit straight to his face with his vibranium shield. The crack sounding at the impact was like music to Steve’s ears, the blood spurting from Perez’ nose a pleasant visual.

Yet, it didn’t feel half as satisfactory as Steve hoped as you had stumbled and toppled over your own feet. He barely managed to slow down your fall, gloved palm shooting up under the spot between your shoulder blades, his other hand holding your shoulder. He supported your enfeebled weight as you practically lied over the unconscious man.

Steve didn’t bother paying attention to his surroundings, knowing that the noise around him was Romanoff and Barton apprehending the remaining thugs. Instead, his gaze scanned you head to toe, focusing on your face and neck when he couldn’t find any other injury.

You were pale, eyes misted, unfocused, skin worryingly cold to his touch.

“Hey-- hey! Can you hear me?” Steve demanded urgently, lightly patting your cheek.

At that, your pupils zeroed on him, wide with disbelief, and to his immense shock, a lazy smile spread on your lips.

“Steve?” you breathed out his name and blood crystalized in his veins, his heart, already panicking, speeding up. How did you know his name? Perhaps the drug, the whatever liquid in the syringe was taking effect and you were turning delirious? Shit, they needed a doctor-- “You’re the pretty blond. Steve. My flirty Steve… my hero. Everyone’s hero.”

Steve’s horror escalated with each word. Good news: you were still breathing and apparently quite lucid, even if your speech was more of a mumble. Bad news: his secret identity just blew up.

Luckily, he considered the good news much more important; and lucid he would like to keep you, so he shot Natasha and Clint a meaningful glare, wordlessly asking them to call help. He wasn’t sure whether it registered because both of the spies were staring at him wide-eyed as the woman in his arms just outed him like the café’s regular… one that flirted with her, no less.

Steve cleared his throat, focusing on his mission – to keep you talking. There was no much point in denying it, was it?

“Eh... yeah, it’s me. How-how did you know? I wear a mask-“

“Muscly… real muscly… and that ass,” you muttered and Steve nearly choked on his spit, certain that he just turned red all over, including the area you pointed out.

Wait, did that mean that you had been checking him out?

So not important right now.

“Oh, uhm- how are you feeling? We have to-“

“You can’t mask that ass. I’d know it anywhere,” you continued babbling as if you hadn’t heard him and Steve gulped, feeling his teammates, who still hadn’t called a doctor, what the actual hell- watching you with interest. ”…could bounce a penny off it… no, that ain’t right, a quarter off of it, that’s it… Dream of it sometimes… biting-“

Clint coughed loudly to cover his laughter, finally springing into action after that uncomfortable remark that gave Steve quite a visual he wasn’t sure how he felt about just yet.

“Alright, as amusing as this is, we should get her some medical attention…”

Steve only took his eyes off of you for a moment, shooting Barton a look that screamed ‘You think?!’

“I want to touch it… please lemme touch it—just once,” you pleaded quietly, swaying even in your practically horizontal position, straining your neck to catch a glimpse of the object of your interest. “The best I’ve even seen-“

“I think it’s ethanol she got injected with…” Natasha announced, sniffing the syringe with disgust in her voice. “High concentration.”

And Steve felt like he just got hit by Thor’s hammer… in his head. Seriously?

“…alcohol?” he asked, dumbstruck and utterly relieved, the heavy weight in his stomach lifting a bit. “You think she’s merely… drunk?”

“Well, alcohol straight to the bloodstream is seriously nasty on its own, S-“

“Alcohol nasty, yesss. And this really hurts,” your voice interrupted Natasha and Steve’s heart clenched uncomfortably when the surprised grimace appeared on your face, your eyes indeed clouding in pain, looking up at him, doe-eyed, so vulnerable and trusting.

“Hey, no sad Steeb! Your eyes pretty too. Little pictures you draw… so suuuper cute. I like your hair. You came in the day, wind blew, so messy-- like bed hair, wanna try top that-- I betcha I can do better-“

“Sounds drunk enough to you?” Natasha hummed casually and Steve didn’t even have to look at her to know she was smirking, while he was both fretting over your state and blushing to the roots of his hair because of your blunt compliments and unfiltered fantasies.

You turned your head slowly to Nat as she spoke, a crooked grin curling up your lips. “Hey, you’re pretty too-“

Much to Steve’s annoyance, the Russian spy had the audacity to chuckle and wink at you.

“Why thank you-“

“But prefer blonds,” you babbled again, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “He’s real nice. His biceps are like… huge. Bigger than my head-- ow, my head… spi-spinning- I think-? Whoa— oh… “

Steve called out your name in panic as you went limp in his arms, your body pliant, folding like a house of cards.

“I like her,” Clint noted as he jogged to Steve’s side, kneeling to take your pulse on the unharmed carotid with a furrow to his brows. “The medics are on their way, she’ll hold on until then.”

Steve sighed in relief when Clint nodded in affirmation again, feeling your heart still beating.

Steve’s grip on your tightened, hand sliding behind your head to cradle it gently rather than letting it dangle in such unnatural angle. He manoeuvred it so your cheek rested against his chest, his newly free hand sneaking under your knees so he could lift you with ease as he stood up.

“Nice, Rogers. Keep going like this, squads with weights, and you’ll keep that exceptional ass of yours in shape,” Natasha teased him, but when he turned to glare at her, she gave him a soft smile and beckoned towards your nearly motionless body. “She’ll be okay. Let’s go get her some help.”

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Your head was pounding. The right side of your neck was itchy as hell and felt extremely stiff. The beeping sounding in your ears was a thing from nightmares, echoing in your aching skull.

You felt like shit and honestly, you could cry when you tried to open your eyes and the sharp light hit them, making you swiftly close them again.

A realization slowly crept at you that there was a presence of an intrusive smell too, making you want to puke— or was that just the brutal hangover? Because you felt unbelievably hungover on top of everything. The world seemed to be spinning even behind your closed eyelids and you couldn’t but groan, deciding to only curse the universe mentally since your throat resembled a Sahara Desert.

“Oh, hey gorgeous,” a female voice greeted you from your left and you snapped your eyes open with a startle, staring with shock at the beautiful redhead sitting by your bedside.

For few long seconds, you wondered if you died and went to heaven, because there was a non-descript angelic-like creature watching over you. You quickly brushed that thought aside, because there was no way Heaven looked like a hospital room and provided you with such shitty sensations attacking your poor body.

So you asked the only logical question, ignoring the dryness of your mouth which soon cause you to cough.

“…who are you?”

A plastic cup with a heavenly cold liquid landed in front of you, the straw sticking from it directed to your lips as the stunning woman frowned discontentedly.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” she asked, seemingly hurt. “My heart is breaking! You told me I was pretty.”

You blinked slowly, finally adjusting to the light, finally able to talk without pain (that much pain, that was) and your head started pounding some more, embarrassment filling every fibre of your being.

What the- oh god, you had really got drunk, hadn’t you, and now you had a total blackout on what you had been up to in your questionable state.

“Eeeer… I did? I mean, you are… but-“

“But you prefer blonds, yeah, I know,” the mysterious woman finished your sentence to her liking and your eyes went wide. How did she- and who was she again, sitting in your hospital room like that? Had you really got so smashed that you didn’t remember her when you should have? When had you met? Shit, your mind was so foggy… “And you think Steve’s a bit prettier. And his ass is the best you’ve ever seen, so I get it…”

“The hell?!” you squealed in utter horror, sitting up straight as the words registered, a flash of blue, red and white flickering in the back of your mind, followed by a sharp stung in your temples. A nauseatingly strong pain resembling an intense cramp – only like ten times worse – shot up your neck as you moved so quickly, ripping a startled yelp from your throat.

A hazy image of the café you worked at blended into a picture Steve’s beautiful eyes – did this woman know your regular, your handsome flirty blond regular? –, sensation of gentle hands cradling your jaw, a sting in your neck—

“You need to be careful with how much you move. Your neck took quite a hit, they had to perform a surgery on you, you got a transfusion. They worried about your brain too. They’ve been monitoring you for four days now and this is the first time you’re awake,” your stranger explained patiently, voice full of compassion.

Your hand involuntarily rose to massage the incriminated place, still unsure of what the woman was talking about, the images in your brain confusing the hell out of you. You still had no idea who she was, but her face was starting to feel a bit familiar – you assumed that whatever had happened, she had been there too, possibly helping you.

And there was something in her green eyes, cautious yet somewhat calming, making it easy to trust her for some inexplicable reason.

“Steve’s gonna be pissed at me for missing it,” she added and grinned. “I made him leave to take care of himself before he could actually start taking roots in here. He’s been worried too. A lot.”

The amount of question marks in your head just doubled, but at the same time, your heart fluttered. Steve had visited you? Often, apparently? That was really, really sweet of him. The thought of him guarding you – and didn’t he have a physique of a bodyguard, once mentioning he was in private security when asked –, brought a dreamy smile to your face.

Perhaps it wasn’t only about flirting for him either…?

“Keep looking so lovestruck and I might forgive him that he hasn’t mention you before. Though I guess I can’t blame him, wanting to keep— anyway. I’m Natasha. Nice to meet you,” she extended her hand towards you at last and you automatically accepted it, telling her your name in return.

Even though that was probably beside the point seeing as she had been found at your bedside in a hospital.

“Hi, Natasha. Nice to meet you too… I think.”

The redhead burst out into a quiet laughter at your hesitance. “Fair enough. After Steve comes back and explains what exactly happened – because it’s not quite my place to tell you –, call me back for the good details. It’s fun to make him blush.”

Despite just only having met this woman, you decided that you kinda liked her and nodded in acceptance of her offer. Steve might be sweet – perhaps even sweet on you it seemed – but some harmless teasing could never hurt. Not when it apparently had something to do with his glorious ass.

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Here’s a thing: Steve Rogers had a lot of fight in him. Before injected with the serum or after, no matter his shirt size, no matter if he could swing his fists effectively or not, he would fight for what mattered.

His teammates and friends certainly fell into the category. The somewhat relationship he had been trying to build with you was right there with them, definitely worth fighting for.

So, after revealing his identity – an action which become inevitable at that point, really – he had a delicate confession to make and a bold question to ask in an almost shy voice. He still asked it, because he would be damned if he gave up on you.

You said yes, your confession about certain harboured feelings matching his.

You said yes, you would like to go out with him very much, because you liked him too.

And no, it wasn’t just because he owned the best backside you had ever seen. Steve Rogers was, according to you, quite memorable and worth fighting for in general too.

(Steve, over time, might have developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with the fact you were getting along with Natasha so well. It was good news and bad news at the same time, seeing as it often resulted in the two of you teaming up against him. Once again, the good news won him over… because he simply loved how easily you fit into his world and how surprisingly well he fit into yours.)

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

S.R. masterlist

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Thank you for reading :-*

It’s once a again a bit different from my usual writing; it’s short (like wtf me? short?) and it’s with a quote that is hard to do justice to... so I hope you liked it at leats a bit. Feedback always appreciated :-*

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jbbuckybarnes · 4 years ago

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Scared & Sacred - Ch. 6

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnant!Reader Description: The Mandalorian had helped you while you were hunted for your family name and you had grown a little closer over the months, but you didn’t expect THIS. How was this possible after just three times of getting so close to him. You had to find a nurse as fast as possible. Warnings: pregnancy, fluff, canon typical violence, helmetless Din, emotional wedding, evil Bo-Katan, canon divergent, not proofread

M A S T E R L I S T

Chapter 6 - Mand’alor

*Urgent Message* Din pressed the button to play the transmission. „There is a group of Mandalorians attacking several empire and rebellion outposts. You happen to know them?“ Greef‘s voice asked through the white noise. „How many?“ „Three or four, my sources aren‘t quite sure.“ „Did they see any specific weapons?“ Grumbling he leaned his heat against the back of the pilot‘s seat. „Some kind of sword they said.“ A sigh left the Mandalorian‘s lungs. „Last location?“ „Heading towards Nevarro.“ His face went grim. „I‘m on my way.“ The transmission stopped. „Great.“ He mumbled, „Way to ruin my great day.“

It wasn‘t long until both of you were prepared and in hyperspace en route to Nevarro. There was more info coming through over time. Two female, one male, dark sword, incredibly ruthless, preaching like a Moff and talking about Mandalore and revenge. „Great.“ Din mumbled next to you and aggressively punched the button turning the message off. „So it‘s Bo-Katan.“ „Seems like it.“ „And she seeks revenge.“ „Apparently.“ „And that dark saber seems to hold some relevance to that.“ „I have no clue.“ You heard another sigh from him. „What?“ „It‘s just...I had something else planned today. Specifically today.“ „Oh.“ You pouted and took his gloved hands. „It was supposed to be a surprise for you.“ He went on and put his other hand on top of yours. „Oh?“ You looked up at his visor with those soft eyes that usually made him melt. „Yes, and the whole village was in on it. Why does this crazy lady need to do her saber revenge trip today? I just wanted to have a great celebration of us with some friends. Can‘t even have that.“ You never saw him so emotional about something and your eyes widened. „It‘s alright, Din. Whatever it is surely can wait. I know that I can.“ You gave him a reassuring smile. „Besides, you should put that anger into stopping her.“ He nodded sharply.

„Your people stood with the empire destroying my religion‘s planet. And for that you will pay.“ You heard the yelling from afar. „You and Greef take Koska, I‘ll take her.“ You nodded and you both started running. A big chaos broke out in the city center just seconds later. „You really think you can win against me?“ Koska chuckled towards your defensive stance. „Yes.“ Greef behind her took her guns from her holsters. A series of kicks and throws against Greef ended up with one of her blasters in your hand and one of them back in her hand, holding it against Greefs back.. You heard her talk but didn‘t really listen. Concentration went towards aiming at that spot at her neck that was without armor. You pulled the trigger, hit, aimed for the free hip, pulled the trigger, hit. Standing over her you took her blaster away. „I learned from a bounty hunting Mandalorian. You really think you can win against me?“ You smirked hearing a pained and annoyed grumble.

The saber made an eerie sound against the braces on Din‘s arms. „I can‘t believe one of my own brothers is turning against me. As if our kind hasn‘t been torn apart enough.“ „You are killing innocent people. You are no better than the people during the purge.“ He groaned and pushed against her. „They were complicit.“ „Because not everyone is willing to give their life for change in the galaxy.“ „Weak-minded.“ „Killing them won‘t change the past, Bo!“ „No, but it means it won‘t be repeated.“ „Genocides will never stop happening in this galaxy. But fighting innocent people plants hatred for our kind in the minds of children. Don‘t you think they will be the ones to repeat the purge?“ He growled strained by all the fighting. „No.“ She sounded feral, „And you‘ll die just like them for your betrayal.“ „Not on the day I was supposed to marry.“ He gathered all his strength and she was off-guard for that one milli-second, landing on the floor with the saber falling from her hand. His knee landed on her chest plate, grabbing the saber, lighting it up and holding it against her neck. „I won‘t kill you, if you give me a reason not to.“ He said out of breath. „You have won against me in a fair fight. That weapon is yours now. It makes you the ruler of Mandalore. You despise my views. I don‘t see a reason for you to keep your enemies alive.“ He couldn‘t kill her. He just couldn’t. It didn’t feel like the right thing to do. In the blink of an eye a blastershot whizzed past him into her shoulder, „Traitor.“ „You chose a fierce Queen of Mandalore, Mand‘alor.“ „I know.“ He stood up and nodded at Greef to get the rest done.

„So...do we go to Mandalore now?“ You looked up at him once you were close to the Crest. „If you promise to become my Queen there.“ You could hear his smile. His hand wandered beneath your chin, „Queen Y/N, Clan of Djarin.“ „It would be the greatest honor.“ „Great, cause I had a whole wedding on Sorgan planned today, let‘s make it a two part adventure.“ „You did what?“ „Nothing.“ He innocently answered and opened the Crests ramp, leaving you there with your mouth agape.

About a day later everyone had finally arrived like Din wanted. On Mandalore, with him as the taxi driver, in a palace he didn‘t know, but with support of a not too small group of local Mandalorians that seemed friendly to him.

It‘s not like it was a big crowd. Maybe twenty people total. Some of the people you met on your travels and a couple friends from Sorgan. They had brought all the food they had already prepared, Omera helping you put on the beautiful light blue dress. „You look gorgeous, princess.“ She rubbed your arms and smiled proudly. „I‘m nervous.“ „Nothing to be nervous about. You‘ll marry a man who loves you, around people who support you. Nothing to worry about.“ You took a deep breath in and out, „Alright, I‘m ready.“

The old hymn of your family played as the double doors were opened by Mandalorians and you saw the big room filled with only the essential people. At the end of the aisle you could see Din in his full armor with his back to you. You walked towards him with Omera and Winta right behind you as your support. He had kept the dress stored away until earlier in the day, it fit perfectly. Left and right you could see familiar faces smile. Their last wedding must’ve been a while ago too. The war had made the bigger festivities so rare.

You came to a hold next to your helmeted man, his helmet went to your side and you didn’t have to see or hear him, you saw the positive shock and awestruckness in his body language. You gave a wide excited smile back up at him and the person marrying you both started talking. You only listened with one ear, the other went to the happy noises from Grogu and your eyes were still on the helmet in front of you. “Din Djarin, Ruler of Mandalore, repeat these words after me. Mhi solus tome.” “Mhi solus tome.” “Mhi solus dar’tome” “Mhi solus dar’tome” “Mhi me’dinui an.” “Mhi me’dinui an.” “Mhi ba’juri verde.” “Mhi ba’juri verde.” He had both your hands in his hands and pressed his thumbs into the backs of your hands for a second before the ceremony master turned towards you with Din’s wedding symbols for you. He took the beskar ring off of the black little pillow and held your hand higher and more delicately. A tear dropped down and his eyes beneath the helmet looked up for a second to make sure they were tears of joy before pushing the ring onto your finger. Then he took a necklace, the pendant on it was the same as his clan signet. Gently he put it over your head and around your neck. “Y/N, you are now of the Djarin clan. Honor this signet and what it stands for.” You nodded before pushing some of your tears aside and taking a deep breath. “Y/N, Princess of Karaku, repeat these words after me. Mhi solus tome.” “Mhi solus tome.” “Mhi solus dar’tome” “Mhi solus dar’tome” “Mhi me’dinui an.” “Mhi me’dinui an.” “Mhi ba’juri verde.” “Mhi ba’juri verde.” While the ceremony master turned back to get your things you heard Din chuckle. “Don’t make fun of my accent!” You grinned up at him. The room giggled for a bit and went silent as the ceremony master turned forward again. Din removed his gloves for you to put the ring on him and saw your shakiness, “Breathe.” The ring landed on his finger and both of you looked back up to the man marrying you. “Din Djarin, you are now Prince of Karaku. Honor your new duty and don’t take it lightly.” The room cheered at you both finally being wife and husband, but it wasn’t over yet.

The ceremony master handed you paint and you gave a proud wide smile in return. “The greatest honor for a Mandalorian is to wear his beliefs in beskar and color.” You took the first of the three colors, “Symbolically your partner will now honor this belief with you.” You took the brush and the man spoke, “Blue, represents reliability. This is for your foundling, your bounty hunting and protecting your partner.” You painted the outline of his visor before taking the next color. “White, a color representing a new start. It stands for your marriage, taking on the duties of the Mand’alor and family life.” You painted the indents of his armor’s “cheeks” and grinned before going for the third color. “Red, stands for honoring a parent. You’ll be wearing it to honor your birth parents, your lost clan and to remind yourself of your duties as a father.” You painted it along the middle part on top of the head. The paint was just symbolic and the actual paint would come later, but that red meant a lot to him and you knew it. “Wear these colors with pride and let them remind you of your values.” “Thank you, I’ll wear them with honor.” He nodded and looked back at you. “You may kiss your partner.” The man pointed out. Din’s hands wandered to your cheeks before softly leaning his helmet against your forehead. You had learned that it was called a Keldabe kiss. Your hands slowly wandered from the sides of his helmet to grab around the lower edge. He leaned his head back again and it felt like you could see the smile through the visor. The little hissing sound came as you released the helmet on his head. The room got a little hush hush. Some of them had never seen him without his helmet and still knew him as a strict man of his creed. Watery brown eyes were the first thing you saw and gave a little pout before being pulled closer for a real wedding kiss. Everyone in the room went wild now and you’d lie if you said you both didn’t giggle like children about it while kissing. “Hello Queen Djarin,” he whispered into your ear and landed himself in an attack of little kisses all over his face.

The room had calmed shortly after and everyone was preparing the food they initially had made for yesterday. Din stole you away to another room for a minute. “You look gorgeous. I think I forgot to breathe a couple times.” He kneeled down to kiss your belly, “And my Princess looks amazing too.” “You made me a necklace of your signet.” You gave him doe eyes ones he stood up normally again. “Of course. You’re part of my clan now.” His hand was covering the side of your face and his thumb caressed your cheek. Right until you decided to jump up and attack him with a passionate kiss. “I love you.” He mumbled between kisses. “Love you too.” You got out too. He came up for air and chuckled, “Forgot how much you like me in armor without the helmet on my head.” “So much.” You pouted again. “We need to go back or they’ll steal all the good food before we get there.” His smile was wide. You sighed but nodded in agreement.

You entered the room to Grogu walking all over the table begging for food with his big eyes. And you saw Peli making a beeline towards you, “Hell, if I would’ve known such a handsome face was under that tin bucket, I would’ve went a little easier on you.” She pressed together his face and he looked over to you with his look screaming, *Help! Is this what grandmothers are like for Non-Mandalorians?* “Peli…” She let him go, “Of course, but ya could’ve warned us about that.” “What? The handsome face or the removal of the helmet?” You grinned and winked at her. “Ideally both. Come over, I saved you some of the tukal filled breads.” Truly a bit of a grandma. He sighed as she went to her seat and you giggled, “Be grateful for all the love, cyare.” “I’m really trying, mesh’la. I really am.”

___

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hope-remnant · 4 years ago

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The Practice Run Killing Game

Content Warnings: guns, violence, murder, manipulation, ableism, blood, weapons, bullying mention, and Dangan Ronpa, which is probably it’s own warning. This is literally 85% murder. 6.5K words.

My talentswap AU now has its own fanfic! for a full list of my talentswapped characters click [here]

Hifumi never thought school life could be so great. He grinned to himself in his dorm, pushing off the floor with socked feet to spin his desk chair back and forth. The pale blue light of his computer’s screen reflected on his glasses, which he pushed up with one finger and a smirk before typing out a last message to his friend’s stream chat.

JusticeHammer: I’ll be back in a few hours!! Have fun Hina!! <3

In his headphones the stream audio played, ambient underwater sounds from the game itself and the excited voice of his friend, the Ultimate Gamer.

“Bye Justice! You other mods better be on your best behavior now that the boss man is gone, okay?” Hina grinned up at the webcam from her side of the screen, waving with one tanned hand before returning to her game, talking about the strange atmosphere of an alien world.

The chat scrolled by as well, people from all over the world typing out goodbyes to him. Thousands of strangers, but dozens of friends as well, fellow moderators who helped wrangle the random people into order, who would play video games with Hifumi, who would message him and call him.

It was a far cry from where Hifumi had been in middle school, and he couldn’t help but grin again, shaking out his hands as if to shake out an excitement that clung to his bones, that stayed in his heart when he remembered he had friends.

His phone dinged with a soft chime, and he couldn’t help the quiet huff of amusement as he flipped open his phone and typed quickly.

Sakura: Where are you going Hifumi? Do you need assistance?

Hifumi: school council meeting! a weird late night one, no emergencies, dont worry sakura!

Hifumi: see you tomorrow, love you!!!!! :)

Hifumi stashed the phone in the pocket of his blazer- he was unsure what to wear to this sudden late night meeting, when before they had all been just after classes let out. He decided to play it safe and wear his school uniform.

Standing up from his chair, he made sure to plug in his laptop, the stream still running on it, and turned to leave his room. He had seen the interior of the main course’s dorms, they were triple the size, with their own ensuite and everything.

His own dorm was small, the wall space barely enough to fit his multitude of posters. There was a complimentary cork board as well, full of fanart people had made of his little sona, a kirby with a hammer and glasses, which he printed out and posted up on his wall as big as he could get them.

He pulled once on the lapels of his blazer, making the fabric settle properly on his shoulders and snatched his binder of notes he used in student council meetings. He made sure to lock his dorm on the way out, still smiling softly to himself. He toyed with the small ring of keys in his hand, dorm room key swinging as well as a number of soft cute keychains that Hina or Sakura sent him in their years as online friends.

He entered the cold night air, pocketing his keys and rubbing his hands together. Winter had clung harder than he had ever seen it, or Spring was simply apathetic even in April, biding its time. In the dusky light he could see the timid, barely blooming sakura trees that dotted the expansive main campus of Hope’s Peak Academy as he approached. There was no security on duty, the gates locked at the late hour.

Headmaster Kirigiri had given him a pass once he sent an anxious email talking about how the head of security, Sakakura, had been harassing him whenever he tried to go on campus. Even though reserve course students were barred from entering the main campus, Hifumi had privileges as the liaison between the reserve and main courses, and as a member of the student council.

Hina and Sakura had theorized it was because Sakakura was the Ex-Ultimate Student Council Leader, and was now one of the club’s supporting staff members, even if he had only worked at the school for a few years. The man was resentful of having a reserve course student on the council, a first in the school’s history, even though the reserve course was a relatively recent development.

Hifumi was used to people disliking him for seemingly no reason, it was only a problem that he took to the headmaster when it made him late to council meetings.

He glanced at his phone as he passed through the side gate intended for just security. He would likely be a minute or two late, but it wouldn’t make him stand out any more than usual. In his black and white suit he was a dark stain in the middle of any crowd of bright ultimates, who were able to wear anything pertaining to their talent and flaunt the rules.

Sakura wearing scrubs some days, Hina wearing garish merchandise for a game and smirking as the Ultimate Hall Monitor from class 77B could do nothing about it. They had told Hifumi about some of their classmates testing the rules, Enoshima in a sporty tank top, the Ultimate Team Manager getting away with it even in December. Fukawa, who didn’t even notice the rules apparently, and wore oil stained jumpsuits to class, no one able to deter the Ultimate Engineer and Ultimate Mechanic.

Yet here he was, in an ill-tailored suit. When he had been accepted into the reserve program and sent a uniform, his older sister had insisted he try it on, and cooed over him looking all grown up, as if she weren’t just a year older than him. She utilized some of her cosplay skills to try and modify the suit to fit him- they seemed to be made for exclusively skinny kids, then just sized up without concerns for body shape. Unfortunately Fujiko typically worked with skirts and dresses, which were more forgiving of hands more used to drawing and the bad eyesight all Yamadas seemed to have.

Hifumi had to stop for a moment, the breeze rustling past as he stared up at the few stars that began to twinkle in the night sky, faded and choked by light pollution, blurry even with his glasses. Some were simply blocked by the giant building before him, gleaming glass reflecting the lights of the city’s nightlife, aside from one classroom on the second floor, lit up bright white with silhouettes moving across the room.

He held the binder full of notes to his chest and walked into Hope’s Peak Academy, unaware that someone in the school’s entrance hall was hiding in the shadows, watching with eyes of deep scarlet that reflected light like a cat’s would in the low light.

Hifumi hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to the classroom they held meetings in. He saw Kamii and Kurosaki, two ultimates on the council who were dating, walk into the meeting room, Kamii practically clinging to her boyfriend. It was unsettling to see as he approached, considering Kamii thought PDA was impolite during meetings, and usually sat with someone between her and Kurosaki to avoid it. Maybe she was upset by something, but Hifumi wasn’t about to ask her, considering he was acquaintances at best with the council.

He followed them into the room, the last to arrive. The fluorescent lights were glaring and bright as night settled fully outside of their meeting. Everyone was seated aside from their Ultimate Student Council President, Umesawa, who stood at the podium in front of the blackboard, knuckles white as her blunt nails dug into the wood, her white armband standing out against the bright yellow of her hoodie.

After Hifumi sat down, leaving his notes on the desk, he noticed just how unhappy everyone seemed. Some were fidgeting, others talking but not saying much at all, their tone hurried and frightened, and others sat there and stared at the polished wood of their desk as if the world was ending around them.

“Now that we’re all here- you have some explaining to do Umesawa.” Ikuta, a girl with a famously short temper among the upperclassmen ultimates, had her hands on her desk as she stood slightly, her red hair swaying and catching the eyes of anyone who hadn’t been startled by her shout.

“Yeah, Aiko, your emails were really panicked.” Kashiki smiled softly at her friend, but she seemed to be trembling.

Umesawa tugged on one of the bright yellow ears sitting atop the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling down the hood and raising her head to look up at the council. Her eyes seemed to draw people in, one blue and one green, both full of an earnestness that made her a good Ultimate School Council President. Now, though, they were rimmed with red, and usually perfect wavy bob was a bird’s nest, brown strands out of place in any way they could be.

“I called you all here because it was best to be as discreet as possible.” Umesawa said.

Ichino snorted, not even bothering to hide his disrespect, too busy carding his hand through his already messy red hair. “Discreet. Yeah.”

Just when Hifumi was going to ask them all to explain, because these ultimates always acted as if everyone just knows what’s going on instead of learning things like normal people- the door creaked open and someone Hifumi had never seen before stepped inside.

The first thing Hifumi noticed were the gloves. One a perfect, unstained white, carrying a large duffle bag. The other a black that blended into her sleeve. The rest of her outfit was just as puzzling, a bright red tie and a white button up, but with a black cropped leather jacket over it. A black miniskirt and red knee high boots as well completed the outfit. But even then, it was almost at odds with pale violet eyes and long lavender hair, only a small portion of that hair in a braid that she toyed with in her black gloved hand.

“Good evening class.” She said, her voice even and her eyes narrowed.

Umesawa backed away from the podium, staring at the girl. “Who are y-?”

The girl waved off the question, her black gloved hand slashing through the air, making the council president back away further. “Goodness, and they say you’re one of the brightest in the school?” She takes a step closer, heeled boots heavy on the floor. “Pathetic.” She says, a light scolding, a chiming thing that seemed more like a schoolyard taunt than a threat.

But Hifumi could tell this girl was a threat. Maybe she had a dangerous ultimate talent- he knew for a fact that even if an ultimate skill was illegal they could be admitted and given essentially some form of diplomatic immunity while they attended the school.

“Why the hell are you here lady?!” Ikuta snapped, standing fully with her hands on her hips.

The girl put both her hands in the air, as if surrendering, but she was smiling, amusement sparkling in those eyes that seemed to dig into anything she laid them on, ferreting out as much information as she could. “I just want to play a game with my fellow ultimates.” She said, placating and condescending.

Hifumi, who was tired, confused, and could be watching his friend play video games right now, finally spoke up. “Can any of you ultimates ever explain anything, or is being cryptic part of the main course syllabus?”

The girl turned to him and glared, and Hifumi couldn’t help the small squeak of fear that slipped from his mouth when her face twisted into a sneer. It was a dramatic expression, he had seen it in games and shows, but no one had ever looked at him like that, no matter how many bullies he had faced. Like he was less than nothing, his very existence something to be loathed.

“A. Game. That shouldn’t be so hard for a simple reserve course student to understand, right? After all, you don’t spend your time doing anything worthwhile, if you can’t even manage to get into the main course.” The girl’s voice dripped with malice, and she quickly took over at the podium.

Umesawa backed up even more, now close to the window opposite of the door to the classroom, hands tugging her hood back up so she could pull at the fake rabbit ears in nervousness.

“I will keep it simple.” The girl shot Hifumi another look. “Last man standing wins. Go.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Ikuta stepped out into the aisle between desks, pointing a finger at the girl as she demanded answers. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, demanding shit from us? Are you some reserve course kid? We’ve had enough from Yamada-”

Everyone’s eyes had been on Kotomi Ikuta, they hadn’t noticed the threatening girl at the front moving at all, assuming she had been just as stunned by the rant, until Ikuta was cut off by a gunshot.

Hifumi had heard guns before, in games, in animes, in movies. There were different patterns to them depending on the type, and when he and Hina became really invested in a game he would bother to tell them apart, the distinct rapid pulses, the blasts and thunderous booms from all different kinds of weaponry. He had never heard one in real life, had never been in the same room as a real gun, even though he knew there was a shooting range up on the fifth floor for those whose talents needed such things.

It was louder than he expected, and the noise was what made him freeze. In the middle of the classroom, Ikuta fell to her knees, then slumped forward. Shrill screams and rumbling expletives filled the room.

It took a moment, to properly process all of the information and connect the dots. When he did Hifumi couldn’t stop the sharp gasp, even though all it did was make him notice the sharp sulfuric stench of gunpowder, as well as the metallic tang of fresh blood. Things he had never experienced before.

An ultimate had died right before his eyes, by something as simple as the handgun that rested like it was molded to be in the strange threatening girl’s black gloved hand. The girl’s eyes were alight with something Hifumi couldn’t understand as she huffed through her nose in what might have been amusement.

She dropped the duffle bag in her other hand, the thing spilling open to reveal an assortment of weapons from knives to swords, hammers and screwdrivers, guns of all shapes and sizes. They were real, the flash of silvery metal, the dull gleam of tools with a new use branded onto them right before their eyes.

“If that’s not enough for you, I’ve got more.” The girl smirked, and waved to the still open door. A cart came rolling in, it’s top shelf littered with larger weapons. A chainsaw, a mace, a sledgehammer, all on top of it, all perfectly clean as if even they didn’t know what a dark omen they were, as if they didn’t know their capacity to do harm in the right hands.

At the bottom of the cart there was a large case which the girl pulled onto the floor with ease after sliding her handgun into a previously unseen holster high up on her thigh. She kicked the case with her boot, walking around it and towards the door. “That holds all the motivation you’ll need.”

“Everyone stay calm!” Umesawa ordered, straightening up from where she had been cowering. “No one touch those weapons- someone could get hurt!” Her voice was as sweet as ever, even with the urgency, she took out her phone and flipped it open, only for her face to fall.

Yokō stood up from his place at the back of the room, turning his flip phone around as if to show it off. “No connection.”

Kubo stood up, gesturing broadly to the class. “She can’t stop all of us, just listen to Umesawa!”

But everyone seemed to be getting up, fourteen students all in one room, some paralyzed by fear, others covering their fear with anger. Hifumi stayed seated, staring, unable to process it all at once, afraid.

A student who had been at Ikuta’s side the instant she fell, trying to help her even after a gunshot wound to the forehead, lunged forward and grabbed one of the spilled weapons at random. He ran towards the terrifying girl who had orchestrated Ikuta’s death. The boy, Someya, was holding a shotgun that was almost too big for him to handle. The little plushies on keychains at his belt jingled slightly, at odds with the cold metal in his hands. Before he could aim, someone grabbed at him.

Ichino tried to grapple the weapon away from Someya, but the small boy clung to the instrument of death with a desperation no one in the room had seen before now in a human being. Someya was frantic, eyes glassy with tears, his distinctive blue bowlcut in disarray as he shook his head, saying how she needed to pay for killing Ikuta.

In the chaos Hifumi finally stood, moving to the wall the door was on, his back hitting the wall quickly as he tried to look around. Umesawa still was at the podium, pleading for order. Gōryoku was shielding some of the others who had broken down into tears with his large muscular body, and some other students had approached the front of the classroom.

Someya was facing the door, facing the girl who had her gun in one hand but was toying with her braid as well, as if bored. She hummed an uneven tune, as if bored, as if waiting for a show to start.

“Please!” Someya cried, tears falling as the shotgun was wrenched out of his hands, the gun making a sharp cracking sound as it hit the floor.

Then the katana entered his chest from behind, skewering him. As the weapon was pulled out with a wet sucking sound Hifumi wished he could never have heard, the girl holding the weapon sobbed. “My mother- they have my mother- I’m so s-sorry, I can’t-!”

With a sob that devolved into a scream, Kisaragi kicked away the file of photographs she had taken from the case, the motive set out for them. It showed a middle aged woman bound to a chair, screaming into a gag.

“Karen! Please, listen-!” Umesawa implored, a hand outstretched. “Put down the-!” She let out a small scream when Kirasagi lurched forward, slashing the katana.

The sword embedded itself into the podium. Most of the class either hung back or scattered to grab the motives, and then the weapons.

Hifumi could only focus on one thing at a time, the sounds. The wet thunk of metal sinking into flesh, into the soft organs of the human body, so fragile even if the person had been deemed ultimate. Gunshots, sobbing, deranged laughter, screams and death rattles.

Hifumi staggered under the onslaught of sensory information overloading his mind with no way to filter it, no way to stop it. All he could do was try to get away.

Blood splattered onto his blazer, up his neck and onto his face as another student died. With a short, faltering yell, he pushed someone out of the way of the door and began to run.

The moonlight streaming into the hallways washed them in a pale ghostly glow, as if illuminating perfection, as if a spotlight was needed. Hifumi didn’t know it, but he looked similar to when he spoke to his friends in late night chats, his lights off in his room and illuminated only by the pale glow of a computer screen, tired and giggling.

Pink marred the walls and floors. In the classroom Hifumi abandoned, a boy he had spoken to, someone in a committee with him, was brutally beaten to death with a chair. A girl he knew was stabbed. Another was strangled. The events tumbled together into one big massacre, one big game, one big show, and the girl who pulled the strings to watch this all happen couldn’t help the grin on her usually passive face as she left the scene into her own lair.

Someone stood at her side now, shorter than her, but even more intimidating. A person in a pristine suit and long black hair, almost ridiculous in its length. Their red eyes seemed to gleam as they watched, but their pointed features never twitched from an expressionless mask of disinterest.

“Satisfied, Izuru?” Kirigiri asked once she reached her control room, one of her lackeys nodding to her reverentially and giving her the seat. Another approached her other side, giggling.

“...” Izuru’s eyes slid to the side, towards where the lackey who had been in the chair now cowered, too horrified to watch what he assisted in causing, pathetic. The girl laughing into her hand was small, and with Izuru’s keen sight and ultimate knowledge, Izuru knew that the girl was thirteen at best, too young, yet still an ultimate. She was enthralled by the gore on screen, delighted by it, just as much as she was enthralled by Kirigiri, who put a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, speaking words but never telling her anything.

With a small huff through their nose, Izuru turned and left to see the scene for himself.

Hifumi didn’t know when someone had got him with a blade. They evidently had, from the wound on his arm pouring blood, pink staining his nice uniform, running through his fingers even when he tried his best to stop the bleeding.

He continued to stumble on, mind overloaded with information, with fear, and he couldn’t help but just blank out on all of it. There was too much to process, too much to bear acknowledging. With a ragged huff, he leaned against a wall of lockers, the cool metal a relief from everything, another nothingness to sink into.

The wall of windows allowed in so much moonlight, for a moment Hifumi thought it was day, that any moment so many of the best students in the country would come pouring out of their classrooms. Maybe his friends would be among them, Hina tapping on her phone or the newest handheld console, Sakura making sure they didn’t bump into anyone.

They would see him, and Sakura would hold him. She was so strong, so steady. She could carry Hifumi to the infirmary, could bandage him up and offer him a lollipop with that slight smile she got when she talked to him or Hina. She would fret over him any time she saw him until the bandage was finally gone, she would insist on carrying his bag or his notes for student council-

Hifumi swallowed down a sob, pushing himself onward. Screams echoed down hallways made to carry the voices of the best, the last cries of those who were dead the moment that girl walked into their meeting. It hurt, to keep moving, to keep acting as if just running away would save him, but everything would hurt no matter what choice he made.

All he wanted was to hang out in Hina’s dorm, his best friends at his side as they all rested on Hina’s bright pink bed, Sakura studying late into the night as he and Hina fell asleep against her.

He wanted so much, and he was never going to get it, not now. Hifumi knew he was going to die here, he just knew it. Was this something other people felt, like a blanket of fresh snow, cold and melting deep into his bones as he realized death was coming for him, an unstoppable force? Was this something that had always been there waiting for him, and he only noticed it now when his head swam and pink dripped from his fingers?

In every game, every anime, every manga, the hero managed to get up and keep going. Whether to escape only to save the day later, or to defeat whatever stood in their way. No one expected that of Hifumi. Maybe they would think an ultimate was capable of it, and there were thirteen ultimates he had left behind to tear each other apart.

He heard a high pitched, screaming cackle and the revving of a chainsaw, the cut off screams of a victim, far enough away that he wasn’t in danger.

Hifumi wouldn’t find any heroes here. All he could do was try his best.

The ones who cared for him, his friends, that’s all they had ever asked of him. To try his best, to keep going, to rely on them if he needed to. Hifumi needed them more than ever, Hina’s endless energy and excitement, Sakura’s quiet strength and support. Hina would be in her dorm, headphones on as she kept talking and talking, playing video games for thousands to see. Sakura was studying a new medical journal, sitting on Hina’s bed, out of view of the webcam.

They were so close but so far, and they were all he could think of. Would they send worried texts when he never messaged them goodnight? Would they wait until tomorrow morning, thinking he had been tired from the meeting? Would they use the extra key to his dorm he gave them, and find his room as he left it, as if nothing was amiss? Would he become another muttered rumor, like the supposed death of a girl in the computer lab of the reserve course?

Would anyone aside from Hina and Sakura notice him gone from campus? He was invisible to the other reserve course students. Maybe they would wonder why there was an extra desk in their classroom, and dismiss it just as quickly as a mistake, never remembering him.

Tears welled up in his eyes. It was all too much, the noises, the things he had seen. Hifumi had never seen someone die before. He had never seen someone kill before. He had never seen carnage, or gore, or death. He wanted nothing more than to calm his racing thoughts, but they all piled up and screamed until he reached nothing, slumped against some lockers. His left hand was in his mouth, and he bit down harshly on the joint of his thumb, his right hand clutching where he had been injured.

He screamed silently, throat hurting, tears finally spilling. He was so tired and scared and lost and he just wanted- he didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t know what to do, it all was piling up, it was washing over him, a tsunami of panic and blood, bright pink and towering over him, until it finally fell and consumed him without even noticing.

Hifumi continued to dig his teeth into his hand, it was something solid, letting him know that he was here. He brought his knees up to his chest, his legs squishing into his stomach. He let go of his wound, his right hand coming up to pull at his short curly hair as he keened. The wet sticky feeling of blood on his hand, in his hair, was so bad but the grounding pull of pain in his scalp was something that kept him from trying to slam his head into the wall or something equally damaging, because he needed anything to stop his mind from screaming, to stop himself from screaming. He began to rock back and forth, crying.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. The moon watched on, impassive in its pale glow. Was time really passing, or had the world ended the moment that girl shot Ikuta? Was the planet still spinning? Would the moon ever set?

“Get up Yamada.”

Chills swept down Hifumi’s spine, he swore someone was talking, but all he could hear were distant gunshots and screams.

“Yamada! Get up!” A polished shoe kicked him in the shin, and Hifumi finally looked up.

Murasame stood before him, leaning on a pitchfork. The dark grey tines were splattered with blood already, dripping down onto the floor. Hifumi stared at the blood, mind numb, lungs and throat pained by the sobs that had wracked his body.

“I can’t kill a guy who’s crying like a baby. Are you a man or not, Yamada? I know you’re just a stupid reserve course, but c’mon. Get up, die with a little bit of dignity.” Murasame rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. He bent down to look at Hifumi like he was nothing more than a bug on the ground, disgusting. His brown hair shifted to cover his face as he leaned, before snorting wryly and standing up straight again, rolling his eyes.

Hifumi choked on another sob, trying to just breathe. He used both of his hands to brace against the lockers behind him, trying to stand. He didn’t know why he bothered, but it was something to do. Maybe Murasame was joking? Maybe he would help Hifumi?

The moment Hifumi was steady on his feet Murasame backed up, swinging his pitchfork up, an arc of pink that glowed in the moonlight following it.

Hifumi ran again. He turned a corner down the hall, still between a wall of lockers and windows, still in a cold empty husk of a school, and he didn’t stop.

He bumped into something- someone, and stumbled back, looking at them. A short person with long black hair and pointed features, deep red eyes that stared at him with nothing behind them. “Sorry!” He shrieked, the habit converging against his fear as he quickly stepped around the person and kept running.

Izuru raised an eyebrow and deftly hid between the lockers as another ultimate passed, this one full of bloodlust, hunting the boy who ran into them. It was different, interesting, but Izuru kept moving. They had more to see than this.

Every breath seared from Hifumi’s lungs, his body ached as he did his best to keep moving. But he didn’t even make it all the way down the hallway. Hacking into his bloodied hands, he ended up falling against one of the massive windows that made up the outside wall of the school. His injured arm burned with pain against the cold glass.

Hifumi whimpered, turning to keep his back to the glass as he heard sprinting footsteps slow and reach him.

“Everyone hated you, Yamada.” Murasame huffed, both hands holding the pitchfork as if it was a staff.

“What?” Hifumi wheezed out, more confused than frightened.

“You waltz in, a useless reserve course, and start telling us what to do. We had a betting pool going on whether you were just that oblivious that you didn’t notice how annoying you were, or if you really were just that annoying.” Murasame sneered.

“Wh-What?!”

Murasame let go of his pitchfork with one of his hands to point at Hifumi accusingly, the tines of the weapon scraping against the floor loudly, making Hifumi flinch away.

“That. Is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so annoying and don’t even fucking know, do you? Handing out orders, trying to get us to help a bunch of teenagers who convinced their parents to blow their money just to attend Hope’s Peak- it’s a wonder no one offed you before now.” Murasame swung the pitchfork back up, both hands on the weapon as he pointed it at Hifumi.

“No- please-!” Hifumi begged, trying to dive out of the way.

The sound of cracking glass echoed around the hall as Murasame chuckled. “Really?”

Hifumi wanted to back away, wanted to run again, but fear paralyzed him.

Murasame just shook his head, pulling back his pitchfork and causing the window to fully shatter. “Get up Yamada. I’m not killing you while you cower. Unlike you, I’m better than that.”

Hifumi made another noise, a whimpered plea even he couldn’t understand, and stood up. He trembled and breathed in the cold night air that rushed through the broken window.

Murasame wacked Hifumi in the head with the side of the pitchfork, toying with him.

Hifumi stumbled to the side, now fully in front of the empty window frame, shards of glass still clinging to the sides. Part of him wondered if he should say something cool. Last words were supposed to be cool, right? That was for heroes, and he had always wanted to be one. He had always wanted too much.

Murasame bared his teeth and stabbed forward, the tines of his pitchfork sinking into Hifumi’s abdomen. For a moment all Hifumi could feel was the force of it, like a gut punch, something he hadn’t been a stranger to back in his middle school days. But sharp pain quickly followed, spreading, and he staggered back, the heel of his shoe hitting open air. He grabbed at the long handle of the pitchfork reflexively, unable to do anything about it.

Murasame lunged forward, trying to grab the handle of his weapon, but he missed. The revving of a chainsaw grew steadily closer, as well the unhinged laughter of an ultimate pushed to the edge. Hifumi’s killer didn’t bother watching him fall, instead running in search of a new weapon.

Hifumi gasped raggedly as he tipped out of the window, the world swinging away until all he saw was the sky. The black of night was endless, the faded stars twinkled, the moon still shined. They wouldn’t change with one boy’s death. They wouldn’t care.

As he fell, all he regretted was not giving Hina and Sakura a better goodbye. He felt the slight scrape of leaves and then his body slammed into the ground, rendering him unconscious.

He wouldn’t wake for days. When the school’s security would find him during their sweep of the grounds, it would be an hour after they already found the unresponsive, unconscious body of Aiko Umesawa, her yellow rabbit hoodie stained pink. She would be taken to a nearby hospital, and she would be silenced before she had a chance to wake.

Hifumi was found later, a pitchfork still stuck in his stomach, and that was for the best, as it staved off the worst of the bleeding as it stayed in the wound. He had sustained a head injury and a cut to his arm, but it was better than the twelve dead students littering the second floor of Hope’s Peak Academy. A dozen bright, beautiful students all dead, their lives destroyed before they could truly live.

The school board of Hope’s Peak knew another factor to the puzzling killing game. Their pet project, Izuru Kamakura, was missing. The Ultimate Hope, the Ultimate Ultimate, was gone and most of the staff who attended to the project were dead or had been enjoying a day off in the peace of their own home, unknowing that their colleagues were being slaughtered like animals.

It had to have been Izuru Kamakura that unleashed this bloodshed. The project ensured that the Ultimate Hope had every talent and skill ever recorded, the school board knew how easily their little project could kill, could hide bodies. They assumed it was a vengeful sign to the board, thinking themselves worth the carnage. The school board thought too highly of themselves. They underestimated just how easy it was to bring an ultimate to a breaking point.

An entire life that culminated in a title, and ultimate, until that was all they were known for. They had to constantly one-up themselves, to constantly prove to others, and to themself, that they were the best. Years of effort, years of blood, sweat, and tears. Everything relied on their ultimate. Their world revolved around it, until they became the embodiment of their ultimate, until their ultimate became them.

When tasked with murder, with letting go of any inhibition and just committing violence, just causing harm, something any human being was capable of, they took to the task with an almost inhuman speed. Some would need a push, but even then, their calculating mind would whir and they would frame everything to their advantage. They would come out on top, they had to. They were an ultimate after all.

But the school board only saw the brightest of their students, children. The blame was placed on Izuru Kamakura, and they quickly moved to cover up any signs of the incident.

Hifumi Yamada would have been placed in the same hospital as his student council president, and would have been silenced just the same, two birds with one stone, but that didn’t happen. The Ultimate Nurse Sakura Oogami demanded the school fly her best friend to her clan’s clinic. She would take care of any medical need, or else she and her girlfriend, the Ultimate Gamer, would drop out of Hope’s Peak permanently, and Asahina would use her global fame to ensure that the reputation of their former school was dragged through the mud.

The school board didn’t care much if the reserve course student died, but it was best if the kid died out of their responsibility, so they used the school’s helicopter to fly Hifumi, Sakura, and Hina all to the Oogami clan’s isolated compound.

Days passed where Sakura tended to her best friend’s wounds, and he awoke. His shifting had roused Hina, who had been sleeping at his bedside, and she ran to get Sakura.

Hifumi couldn’t help but cry in Sakura’s arms, crying himself to sleep within minutes of waking, but this sleep was far more restful. He knew he was safe. He knew he would be cared for. He knew he’d never have to go through something so bad like that ever again.

Two weeks would pass from this incident, and Hifumi would find himself locked in Hope’s Peak Academy, working with the 78th class to bolt over any window and make sure they could never, ever escape. He would agree to lock himself into the building where the worst thing to ever happen to him occurred. He agreed because Hina and Sakura would be at his side. He agreed because he knew they would be safe, together.

Hifumi’s memories of the School Council Killing Game were unclear. He would wake from nightmares gasping for air, never fully remembering the faces of his fellow students who died, only remembering the indifferent moonlight and the gleam of deranged eyes.

When Hifumi would ask Kyoko Kirigiri if they had ever met before, the Ultimate Lucky Student would smile awkwardly, shrugging her shoulders and saying that he must be thinking of someone else, and he would believe her, unknowing of the deep, undying loathing she carried in her heart towards him. Unknowing that she had sworn to kill him with her own hands one day.

#my talentswap #writing #Hifumi Yamada #Aoi Asahina #Sakura Oogami #Kyoko Kirigiri #danganronpa talentswap

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valhahazred · 4 years ago

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Cryptid Mythos bonus! Everything that appears on this sheet is an entity reported by real people. Why no Mythos this time? Because these encounters are so strange in appearance or behavior that they could slip right into the Sothic multiverse with little to no alteration or alternative explanation. Good luck Investigators!

All Colours Sam In 1973, in the town of Sandown, 7 year old “Fay” and an unnamed friend encountered a very strange individual as they explored the fringes of a golf course. They first became aware of something weird going on when they heard a sound like an ambulance siren in the distance. Following the sound to a footbridge over a creek, the two children were confronted by a three fingered hand wearing a blue glove that beckoned them from beneath the bridge. Awaiting them was a seven foot humanoid figure wearing strange clownish clothing, seemingly reinforced with wooden slats that protruded from his sleeves and pant-legs. The figure had a book in his hands, which he immediately fumbled and dropped in the water. He splashed around cartoonishly before recovering his book, leaping out of the creek and away from the children. He moved to a small metal shed with a high-kneed hopping gait and disappeared inside. The children went to leave, only for the mysterious entity to exit again with a microphone that appeared to be the source of the wailing that drew the children in the first place. It spoke into the microphone in a friendly, non-threatening tone. “Are you still here?” The children were curious and unafraid, so they moved towards him. He held up his book and pointed at the words in order to introduce himself. “Hello and I am all colours, Sam”. They asked if he was human and he said no and when asked if he was a ghost he replied, “well, not really but I am in an odd sort of way.” The children asked what he was then and he simply said, “You know.” During their conversation with the entity they learned that although he went by Sam, he didn’t really have a name, he claimed that there were others like him and that he was afraid of humans and that he was a pacifist, refusing to harm others even if they should attack him. He invited them into his hut, where he shared some wildberries and showed them a magic trick, where he placed a berry into his ear and seemingly teleported it to his mask’s eyehole and then to his mouth with quick jerks of his head. They continued to converse for almost an hour before the children decided to leave. Was he an alien in a make-do disguise? An animated scarecrow? A figment of childish imaginations? Or just a strange homeless man dressed like a clown? Whatever the truth, All Colours Sam, also known as the Sandown Ghost Clown, was never seen again. The Crazy Critter of Bald Mountain This weird looking creature was sighted by three people in the week following a fiery object that passed over the Bald Mountain near Newaukum Lake in Washington. When the local Sheriff began an investigation into the sighting he was visited by heavily armed and uniformed men who claimed to be from the Air Force and forced him to give up the case. Old Saybrook Blockheads Mary Starr was awoken in the early morning on December 16, 1957 by a bright light shining into her bedroom. She looked out the window to witness a 30 foot cigar shaped craft hovering over her yard, less than 10 feet from her house! Inside the apparent spaceship she witnessed a pair of small creatures with fleshy skirts and clear cubic “heads” containing a floating red bulb. They raised their right arms and as a third entity appeared in the portholes the ship brightened before shooting off into the sky. Space Brains of Palos Verdes As John Hodges and Pete Rodriguez were leaving a party at two in the morning they were not expecting to meet anything from out of this world but as the car turned on its headlights illuminated two bizarre entities! The men panicked and drove away, ending the story for Rodriguez as he made it home with no complications. However, in Hodges case he next became aware of himself two and a half hours later in the driveway of his home, sitting in the car as if in a trance. Troubled by the missing time, he eventually went for hypnosis in an attempt to recover his memories of the night. While under regression he claimed that while he got his friend home safely, when he returned to his own residence the disembodied brains were waiting for him! He asked them what they wanted and suddenly he was elsewhere, in a dark room with entities that looked like the classic Greys but very tall and with webbed six fingered hands and yellow eyes. They explained that the brains were “merely translators” used in order for these beings to interface telepathically with humans. He claimed they warned him that Earth had “too much power” and showed him a map of the planet covered in lights that indicated places where humans might destroy themselves. They showed him images of dead planets and made several inaccurate prophecies before he suddenly found himself back in his car. Unlike many other abductees with similar experiences Hodges did not try to make excuses for their bunk predictions or feel like it made him important in any way. He simply assumed the aliens were untrustworthy and were playing with him. The Casa Blanca Entities This is one of the strangest and most confusing accounts of a Close Encounter of the Fifth kind, as eight children ranging from the ages of four to fifteen were terrorized by a parade of extraterrestrial monsters one summer day in 1955. It started with an array of UFOs, sun-like, disk-shaped and semi-transparent, appearing and disappearing with musical pings. Then came the entities. First was a ghostly being bearing a shiny belt buckle that was so brilliant it could blind someone looking straight at it. It was followed by disembodied arms in riveted armor that seemed to beckon to the children, small strange men that used dual ray guns to paralyze and finally a many limbed creature. All through this strange arrival something spoke to the children telepathically, offering to take them away. The kids they spoke to often seemed to be entranced, moving to the dancing UFOs mindlessly and required physical force or even being hosed down to snap them out. One child even fell off a roof in an attempt to reach a UFO, only to be protected by a red force field. The weirdest part of all is that not only did adults not see anything, they couldn’t. Despite being present for the event a mother of one of the children was unaware of the paranormal happenings. Does this mean it was all in the children’s heads, as they were overtaken by some kind of playground hysteria? Or is there some alien force that not only wants our children but can make themselves invisible to undesirable observers. The Garson Invaders In 1954 three of these insectoid entities appeared to Canadian miner Ennio La Sarza. Their appearance was already exceptional by the usual standards of reported alien contact but in a particularly striking detail their faces appeared to glow in colours La Sarza had never seen before! The beings asked La Sarza to do something for them but he refused, not only to do it but to even speak of it. It was so awful and “outright apocalyptic” that he even considered asking the RCMP to lock him up in case the creatures he’d met had some way to enforce his cooperation. The Poole Pyramid This multi-hued metallic pyramid appeared in 1965 to seven year old Terrence Druce of Poole in Dorset when he awoke to it hovering over the foot of his bed. He shrieked in terror, waking his younger brother in time for him to also witness it as it faded into thin air. That encounter might have never been recorded if the brothers hadn’t seen it again the very next day, lurking in a parking lot. They said it seemed aware of their presence and turned to watch them but it did not follow them when they decided to flee the scene. Delta Dogs An anonymous woman was driving through a snowstorm on route 07 through Syracuse in January 1958. She came across what at first seemed to be a downed plane but as she approached her engine slowly ran itself down and the car stopped itself. As she desperately tried to restart the car the snowstorm calmed and more details became apparent. Projecting out of the large object she’d thought was a plane crash was a 50 foot illuminated pole. Two strange beings rose up along the pole, floating by it as it started to retract. When the pole finished sinking into the object the creatures disappeared and the craft took off so fast she couldn’t make out where it went. The Electric Serpent of Tacoma This is easily the most unusual sighting of a sea creature that I’ve ever heard of. Seven men camping on the shore of Black Fish Bay in 1893 encountered a sea monster that appeared to be cybernetic, if not entirely biomechanical! Disturbed by a horrible noise and blinding lights the men left their camp to find a huge, hairy walrus-like animal with steaming horns, bands of coppery metal and a revolving propeller-like tail! One of the men approached it to get a better look, only to be struck by an electric blast from its copper bands and fell to the ground as if dead. When one of his friends tried to pull him to safety, he was likewise shocked by the impossible animal. The other men fled into the woods after seeing two of their number seemingly killed and the Electric Serpent seemed to lose interest and swam out into Puget Sound. Once they were sure it was gone the remaining men returned to the beach and were elated to find their friends burned and stunned but still very much alive! So what happened? Was it just one of the sadly common newspaper hoaxes of the time? Or did a bunch of 19th century fishermen find a literal fucking pokemon? You decide! Stickmen The Stickmen are an extremely recent phenomenon, with reports starting within the last 10 years or so. They are described as being stick thin and roughly humanoid, sometimes with bubble heads, glowing eyespots or even top hats. They range in size from human-like to towering in excess of 20 feet. What is most interesting about them is their apparent two dimensionality, sometimes appearing the same no matter what angle they are viewed at and sometimes being able to turn to the side and vanish as though they were never there. They are also frequently reported as being accompanied by a feeling like static electricity and of aggression or hostility. Despite those impressions the Stickmen do not appear to be hostile, instead seeming surprised and immediately retreating from a witness.

#call of cthulhu #cthulhu mythos #cryptids #eldritch #aliens #monsters #sandown ghost clown #all colours sam #The crazy critter of bald mountain #Old Saybrook Blockheads #Space Brains of Palos Verdes #The Casa Blanca Entities #The Garson Invaders #The Poole Pyramid #Delta Dogs #The Electric Serpent of Tacoma #Stickmen #my art #cryptid mythos

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skarsgard-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Fell in Love with a Girl

Description: Axel helps his girl overcome her biggest fear, gaining a new favorite canvas.

Warnings: Needles, body image issues, sexual content (you must be 18+ to ride this roller coaster), references to spanking

Note: This is technically a continuation of this imagine, but you can read it as a standalone and it will make sense. The title is a reference to the song by The White Stripes.

Usually the tattoo parlor buzzed with activity on afternoons like this, “Back in Black” pounding over the speakers as the artists rolled up their sleeves and leaned over their human canvases, executing the visions of their clients better than they could articulate them. But on this particular day, Axel had closed the shop early so he and his girl could have the place to themselves. He told her to pick something to listen to, knowing she was more of a Fleetwood Mac kind of girl than an AC/DC fan. She was tense as she took her seat in the chair, watching him arrange everything he would need on the cart beside him. She swallowed nervously, picking at the soft leather on the arm of the chair with her fingernails and trying not to think of the needle.

She had done everything he told her: she’d moisturized her skin and kept herself hydrated and had forced herself to eat a substantial lunch even though her stomach had been sick with nerves for days. “I don’t want you to pass out in my chair,” Axel had warned. It was the last thing she wanted to happen. She had seen how pale he was after she fainted trying to get her flu shot at Walgreens that one time, and it would be so much worse if it happened here, in a situation where he would surely blame himself.

Even though she was terrified, she kept thinking how much she needed this—for him to use her as a canvas the same way he did those other girls who came into the shop, already tatted up and each of them so bold and excited for him to get to work. Only this time it would be his lover, and every time either one of them looked at the black lines on her skin, they would be reminded that she was his girl—his only girl—and she had trusted him with her biggest fear.

“I don’t want you to do this just because you know I think it’s hot,” Axel said the morning after she first brought up the idea of her getting a tattoo. He was standing in front of the fridge wearing a grey tank and his boxer shorts, drinking orange juice out of the carton.

“I’m not.” She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and pushed it into his hands. He blinked at the glass as though he had never understood its purpose, then poured some juice into it.

“Then what made you change your mind?”

She wasn’t sure how to explain it. Each of his tattoos told a story about who he was, even the crudest ones. She loved the way they turned his body into something more than flesh—into something on which to hang those stories, like paintings in a gallery. She loved the way they distinguished his body from every other man, how she could follow the map of signifiers with her tongue and find the various little spots that made him moan.

The girl in the locker room at the gym had caught her eye immediately. She had watched her towel off and rifle through her backpack, completely unhurried and unashamed of her own nakedness, a wild spray of flowers blossoming all along the curve of her hip and trailing over her lean thigh. She wasn’t sure if she was jealous of the girl or infatuated with her. On her way home, she had imagined Axel working on a tattoo like that, sitting for hours as he seared his artwork into the girl’s skin, listening to her chatter about this piece she wanted to get under the curve of her breast, or that piece she had on the back of her neck. As the endorphins from her workout wore out, she felt so frustrated that her own phobia kept her from sharing that kind of moment with Axel.

She wanted to look in the mirror and admire her lover’s artwork stretched across a part of her body that had always made her feel self-conscious. She would never be as lithe as the girl at the gym. She had more curves than she liked—plenty of soft parts that Axel loved to grasp and squeeze but which never matched the ideal body she pictured in her mind. She had started to think that a tattoo would help her look at her body the way her lover did, as something to be admired.

Axel stared at her quietly as he leaned back against the fridge, holding the glass of orange juice like it was two fingers of whisky. She didn’t know how to answer his question.

“It’s as much for me as it is for you,” she finally said. “I promise.”

But now she sat in that chair feeling like she was waiting at the office of a very strange dentist, imagining every needle that had ever pricked her skin and listening to her heart pounding in her ears over the sound of Stevie Nicks’ vocals. Axel’s hand closed over her own.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was soft, but reassuring. “I got you, okay?”

She looked at him and tried to put on a brave face, swallowing hard. “Okay,” she said.

Axel studied her for a long moment and leaned over, cupping her chin in his hand as he kissed her. “We don’t have to do this,” he murmured against her lips. Her heart beat even faster.

“I want to.”

Even though her voice sounded small, Axel could tell she was sincere. He nodded and straightened up. “I gotta grab a few more things,” he said, then gently tugged on one of the belt loops of her jeans. “These are gonna have to come off.”

Her throat felt dry even though she had been drinking nothing but water for two days. She watched Axel disappear into the back of the tattoo parlor. It was the simplest, most obvious request, but it made her feel like a teenage girl about to lose her virginity to her boyfriend. She kicked off her sneakers and shimmied out of her jeans. It felt so wrong, sitting there in the shop wearing nothing but a t-shirt and her cotton panties covered in pastel polka dots. By the time Axel returned, her cheeks were flushed pink even though the rest of her face was pale and she looked as though she was going to be sick.

Axel sat down on a stool and tried to keep his own misgivings from showing on his face. He’d had plenty of squeamish clients before, but they were just clients. Usually they brought someone else along to hold their hand and talk them through the process while he focused on getting the tattoo done, preferably quickly, if they could tolerate it. This time it would be his girl sitting there, scared shitless, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to comfort her and work at the same time. He needed to give her something else to focus on.

“You okay, kitten?” he asked.

She nodded a little, chewing on her lower lip. Axel wanted to say to hell with the whole thing and capture that lip between his own teeth instead, but he didn’t let on.

“Let me show you what it’s gonna look like,” he said. They had talked about the design for weeks, compiling a list of her favorite kinds of flowers and debating on what colors she might like if she ever decided to have the tattoo filled in later. He showed her the design, holding it over her soft skin and pointing out the one dahlia blossom she had agreed to start with on the part of her thigh that would be the least painful. She smoothed her hand over the design and looked at Axel.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, her gaze darting toward the tattoo gun on the cart beside the chair.

Axel had an idea. He smoothed his big hands over her thighs and gave her hips a squeeze, enjoying the give of her curves under his palms and the way her body became so responsive to his touch. He pushed her panties out of the way and leaned down, kissing her along her pelvis and stopping just above her center.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and tell me if you need a break, right?” he asked, pulling her panties off completely and tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans.

For a moment, she couldn’t make a sound. She stared at him with wide eyes, nodding.

“Hm?” he asked as he nipped at her skin, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“You’ll tell me to stop?” He wanted to make sure she understood, that she wouldn’t push herself too far in an effort to be brave for him.

Her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to squeak out a response. “Yes, I will.”

Axel kissed her skin one more time, sending a shiver down her spine. “Good girl,” he murmured. He sat up and put on a pair of gloves, then started prepping the area on her thigh with alcohol.

It felt cold on her skin, but all she could think about was how the lower half of her body was completely naked, how the stubble on his face had tickled her skin as he kissed her. She had watched other girls get thigh tattoos. They usually pushed their jeans down just far enough for him to work, keeping themselves as covered up as possible—even the ones who looked at Axel as though they secretly hoped he would suddenly whip out his cock and tell them to get on their knees. She felt the leather seat below her bare ass and tried to concentrate on something other than her own arousal that had gathered between her legs when he had kissed her. She felt so exposed, sitting like that in the tattoo shop, where there would usually be half a dozen people sitting around. It was only her and her lover now, but it still seemed so dirty.

“You’re the prettiest canvas I’ve ever seen,” Axel said as he traced the design onto her skin. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe the sweet things that came out of his normally filthy mouth. It made her heart flutter. He finished transferring the design and had her look it over for approval. Even though it was only a single flower, she couldn’t believe how beautiful it was—the way its delicate petals looked like they were opening, shining with dewdrops and framed by leaves.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered in admiration.

Axel winked at her. “That’s because it’s you,” he said. She thought she would melt into the chair right then as he turned to prep the tattoo machine. “Lay back and try to relax, sweet girl.”

She leaned back in the chair and did as he instructed, squeezing her eyes shut so she wasn’t tempted to glance over at what he was doing. If she saw the needle, she felt certain she would call the whole thing off. She thought instead of how she would trace her fingers over the design later, a tangible reminder that she belonged to him, that he loved her so tenderly. His smooth voice interrupted her reverie.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he said. “Here we go.”

She inhaled sharply and tried to relax as she felt the sting of the needle on her skin. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined, but her heart began to race and she forgot to exhale.

“That’s my girl,” Axel purred. “Keep breathing for me, okay?”

She exhaled then, and forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. The pain began to subside after a few minutes and was replaced by a strange numbness. Her skin still smarted, but it felt manageable, and as Axel continued to talk her through it, she began to relax. She thought about how he sometimes slapped her ass during sex—how she would yelp, but always pushed her ass into his hands afterward, wiggling her hips and hoping for more. Once he had given her such an intense spanking that her ass was red for days. She couldn’t sit at her desk at work without it smarting and reminding her of him, of how he could turn pain into pleasure. She felt her face growing hot as she thought about it now, a gentle throb of desire drawing her attention to the place where he kissed her.

“Talk to me, kitten,” Axel said, glancing up at her. Her brows were furrowed together and her eyes were shut tight as she took slow, ragged breaths.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled.

“I’ll be done before you know it.”

He finished the outline and began shading the design, speaking soft words of praise and encouragement as he did so. He wanted to get it over with quickly for her, but he also wanted to get it absolutely perfect. Though the design was small and relatively simple, he did some of his best work that day. Sometimes when he finished a tattoo, he felt it was nothing more than a picture. But this one was a work of art. He added a few final touches and looked up at her. She didn’t seem to realize he was finished.

“All done,” Axel said, setting his gear aside and taking off his gloves with a snap.

She opened her eyes, blinking as though coming out of a trance, not unlike those times when he had fucked her out of her senses. “Already?” she asked.

Axel held back a grin and nodded. “You did so good,” he said, pushing the cart aside. He splayed his hand over her stomach, caressing her there before slipping his fingers down between her legs, dipping them into her arousal. A soft gasp escaped her lips, as beautiful and sweet as she was. As much as he wanted to fuck her, he didn’t want to irritate the area he had just tattooed. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give her something lovely to think about whenever she remembered her first time. He stroked her with his long fingers, watching her body arc in response to her touch.

“Relax, baby,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

That became their ritual from then on. Axel would close the tattoo shop early on a weekday afternoon and paint the canvas of his lover while she lay naked in that chair, content to let him do whatever he wanted. The blossoms spread out along her thigh and arched over her hips, coming to an elegant frame over her most delicate parts. They bloomed over her ass and flooded with color, deep shades of purple and pink that stood in perfect contrast to her flesh. When she’d had enough for the day, he’d cover the area with a bandage and make love to her. Those times were sacred, and he never felt closer to her than he did after she let him tattoo her skin, because no matter how many times they did it, she was always afraid. But she trusted him enough to let him do it anyway, and he loved her for it.

@stevesharrlngtons @skrsgardspam @loomiz @ladadada-da @jj-lynn21 @flowers-in-your-hayr @emmyrosee @walkxthexmoon @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @scuba-seamus @grandpa-sweaters @lihikainanea @gustafsnightangel

#axel #axel cluney #axel cluney fanfiction #tw: needles #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard fanfiction #I have never wanted a tattoo #until today #this boy can FUCK ME UP

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mochikeiji · 4 years ago

Text

Mission Accomplished [Kuroo Tetsurou]

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Warning: Mafia AU, jealous/possessive Kuroo, daddy kink, cursing, slight impregnation kink.

GIF is not mine!!

"Impossible. I don't think it's possible that a woman like you is already married."

The smell of wine and cigarettes filled your nostrils in the most disgusting way. The man beside you looked like those typical scum bags that will get into any girls with the power of his money, or by force because he happens to be another rival gangs leader.

"I most certainly am, good sir. And my husband will not be pleased to see you acting so inappropriately around me."

Lightly cheering at the back of your head, you took a sip of your wine, eyes darting ahead on the bartender in front of you who was just wiping the cups. But even if you indirectly said no to a man, it automatically translates; "No no, take me." which is why he happens to move in closer, wrapping an a around your waist, and squeezing your flesh.

"Now, now. Let's not be hasty, sweetheart. Why not—" he reaches out for roll of cash from his pocket, grazing it on the exposed skin of your breast thanks to the revealing dress you were assigned to wear. "For a load of this, for a night with me. Seems a fair trade don't you think?" holding back the urge to slap him for touching you without your consent and out of respect, you had to remember why you let Kuroo and the rest of Nekoma pursued you to do this mission with them.

"How bout you take your arms off of my wife, and take a load of shit, asshole."

Hiding a smirk, it just so happens your husband was the bartender in disguise. "Hah? You married a commoner? Baby, I could give you more than he can." a click of a gun next to his head made him flinch. His arm falling off of you as he raises them in defense.

"And I could give you more than 10 bullets stuck in your rotten skull if you don't shut up, and cooperate with us, sir." Behind him was Kenma. Even though his voice sounded so calm, you can feel the venomous threat laced upon them as his cat eyes were dilated.

"And for the record, kind sir." your husband faces him, pulling on the latex gloves on his hands with a smirk. The man pales when he's got a good sight of who your husband really was, "This pretty lady here is married with someone who can make you disappear from the face of the earth." gulping, he stayed silent. Kenma pushed the gun roughly on his head, as a warning to not make any movements. "You better cooperate well with my guys. Yaku is especially very furious with what you did to him."

This man had caused Yaku his leg. Fortunately he was still able to walk, but deciding on getting revenge for attacking their group, and for injuring not only him, but Lev as well. Yaku had made Kuroo agree to his plans. The hardest part with Kuroo was letting you join in as bait. He wasn't allowing his wife be the kind of sightings for un worthy men. Yaku said he could be near them as she speaks with the target, that's why he was disguised as a bartender.

Having to bear the minutes of that bastard touching you, and fucking letting his fingers close to your breast almost made him grab his gun that was hidden below the counter, and shoot him dead. Luckily, Kenma had sharp senses and sprung into actions before it was getting messy around the bar. Not many people have taken a notice that two of the strongest people from one of Tokyo's top mafia Group was within them. Which was a good thing since they didn't want to have to deal with the police again.

"We'll take care of this, Kuroo. I'll let Yaku know." Kai had popped out of no where next to Kenma, cuffing the wrist of the man who was no longer uttering a single sound. "Terribly sorry you had to get yourself into this, (Y/n)." he bows. "It's fine, Kai. I enjoyed the thrill." You glared back at the man, "Tell Yaku to shoot him harder for me." Kuroo snarls. The two men nodded, and escorted him out. Without prying eyes capturing them. Now you were left with a seething Kuroo.

"Car, now. Don't make me tell you twice."

You bit back a smile knowing what the outcome would be once you got home. Quickly getting out of your seat, you strut out of the bar, letting Kuroo's eyes wonder your back side, admiring how the dress fits you perfectly letting the good parts be prominent for his eyes.

The ride home was quiet. Only because you had to hold onto your seat as he drives in a pace that surely might've gotten him arrested for speed limit driving at night. But when Kuroo was angry, you'd be better off silent. You didn't want him to take you on the car. You weren't planning on having sex til dawn in a cramped up space. Almost hitting your head when he parks swiftly in front of your house, he slams his door shut, opening yours and carrying you inside. Kicking the door behind without any ounce of care anymore.

"Bastard." now finally on the soft cushions of your shared bed. He gently throws you on bed on your stomach. Letting your ass up on the air. You watch him pull up the hem of your dress, revealing your bottoms for his glowing eyes. "Did you really have to let him enjoy shamelessly stare at what's mine?" your toes curled a little when his gloved hand lays on your ass cheek, feeling the latex glove come contact as it massages in a soothing way. "If he had his hand on your ass back there." The air had a strong whip of sound, coming contact with your ass as it stung. "I would've shoot him down if it weren't for Kenma." You whimpered. Spanking you was suppose to be punishment, but being a secretly masochist girl, you found this punishment of yours hot.

Another blow was made on your ass. You gripped the bed sheets as you bit down, muffling your pleasurable whimpers. "Would you look at that." his fingers found their way on your clothed pussy, pressing against them, feeling warm, sticky substance stain them on his gloves. "You're getting wet." he continues to rub you from behind. Feeling good, you rubbed yourself on his fingers with your own pace, loving how it gave you sparks of pleasure. He lets you do as you please, licking his lips at the sight of your panties getting more, and more wet as you went on to get off, "Cute, you must really love it when I do this to you." using his other hand, he places another spank on your ass, his fingers still rubbing the wet spot of your panties. His hands felt so good hitting you from behind, your ass fitting perfectly whenever he grabs hold of them before giving you another spank. Borrowing your face on the sheets, whimpering quietly as tears strung on your eyes when your butt began to feel sore.

"Aw, is my baby going to cry?" he stops, pushing your hair out of your face. He feels himself get turned on at the sight of you getting wet from just his spanking— letting yourself submit to him so easily made him feel so much power over you. Glancing at your underwear, he pulls the waistband of it, and lowers it down. Exposing your now red ass, and wet lips. "Damn. " pressing is fingers against you, moaning out when he inserts one inside, testing the waters. "My fingers slid in so easily, baby." he spreads your lips, hot breath covering your throbbing sex before giving it kitten licks. You raised your hips a little higher, moaning at the feeling of his mouth slowly eat you out.

"So fucking divine." he lets his fingers take over your lower lips, "All mine." hearing the wet sounds coming from his fingers, you panted, "Daddy." his vision becoming dark after that left your lips. You whined when he pulls his fingers away, licking in your wet substance, positioning the tip of his dick behind.

"Take Daddy's cock like a good girl, princess."

Gripping the sheets tighter, you moaned out. His cock reaching in the right places inside, deliciously long and perfect for you to take in. "DADDY!" You screamed as he thrusts back in. Giving you your favorite pace— hard, and fast.

"It's much more hot fucking you in your dress." panting, he pulls you up against his chest, groping your breast with his lips attacking your neck. "This is what he wasn't allowed to touch." snarling at you, squeezing your breast around his hands. You can feel him become more and more possessive as he curses out to the man in his mind. No one was allowed to look at you that way, or even get as close to touching what's his. Grounding his hips on your ass, he lands another spank on you, loving how your greedy pussy eats him in. The way your body shook against his hold. Because of him, no one else.

"You love this, do you? Only I get to wreck you like this, hm?" his balls hitting you as he clenches his jaw, giving you slow, but powerful thrusts. "Only Daddy can do this, right? I'm the only person you love fucking with." his hand grabbed the base of throat, lightly choking you as he places trail of butterfly kisses on your back to your shoulders. You couldn't listen to him, you let yourself wonder off in cloud nine. Wanting his hand to choke you more as he fucks you from behind.

"Answer me, Princess. Daddy doesn't like it when you're quiet." he bites on shoulder, loving the way you shuddered, and looked at him with your mouth panting open, "Cum, Daddy. I want you. Only you, please. More." The hand on your throat raises up two fingers, plunging them in your mouth as you moaned loudly into them. "Goddamn, babe." moaning at the arousing sight of you choking on his fingers, he can feel his own cock twitch inside of you. He watches his own dick slide in and out of you, biting his lips, he can feel himself cumming.

"Fuck, Daddy's going to cum." he removes his fingers from your mouth. His arms immediately slithering around your waist, holding you against him as his thrust began to get sloppy. "Will you let me cum inside? Get you nice, and full." clenching harder because of his dirty mouth, "HAH— DADDY— KUROO! PLEASE I'M SO CLOSE." You screamed from below, pushing your hips up with shaking legs.

"PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME!" your begging made him place his forehead on your back, focusing on the sounds of your pleading and moaning mixing in a dangerous way, letting his kinks out, "I'm going to fill you up so good. Fuck, I want to see you dripping with my cum." Biceps and muscles flexing underneath, "I'm cumming, baby girl." he grunts, you screamed at the amount of warm load inside your walls. You were getting close, as he continues to empty himself, his fingers rubbed circles around your clit, moaning a little loud when you suddenly clenched on his sensitive cock, "AH DADDY—" you came around him, your cum sliding from his cock, and fingers. Small droplets on the sheets as he rides you out.

He pulls out slowly, watching your little body overflow with the amount of cum he let out. "I came hard, didn't I?" with a teasing tone. You slumped down in bed with him still on top, eyes slowly dropping with your lower half aching. "I was not done with you yet, princess." he purrs, giving you feather like kisses on your sweaty features, his eyes still dark, and his pupils dilated in want, "We're not resting until you're absolutely filled by me." whimpering when you felt something hard poke your thigh, you let yourself submit to your husband knowing you were powerless against him.

"We're not resting until you make me a Daddy."

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kinglazrus · 4 years ago

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Not Your Danny – Ch 3. Familiar

Previous | First | Next | FFN | AO3

Word count: 3814

The city had looked unremarkable that day. It shouldn’t have surprised Dani, considering Amity Park rarely looked remarkable, but it upset her anyway. After nearly three days straight of flying, coming all the way from Australia, she collapsed on the outskirts of the city, gasping for breath. Every inch of her body ached.

Flying wasn't like running or jumping; it didn't use muscles the same way. Being in the air for too long could make your head dizzy and your vision blurry. It gave her headaches and watery eyes and filled her with exhaustion so heavy she wanted to sleep for days on end. But, if Dani was desperate enough, she could push through that. This is exactly what she did when she found out Danny Phantom had died.

It was a long flight from Australia to Amity Park, over vast, empty expanses of ocean. She rested when she could, stealing a few minutes of shuteye whenever she came across land, but never more than that. She pushed herself in a way she never had before, until the headaches turned to full body aches, and every muscle in her body was tense and cramped, and she could barely stay upright when finally, finally, she saw the cheerful welcome sign of Amity Park.

On her knees in the dirt, Dani held herself up with trembling arms.

A Nice Place to Live!

The soft green letters loomed over her with their deceptive message. Nice for who?

She might have fallen asleep there, collapsed in the ditch, because the next thing she knew, she was face down in the soggy grass, her clothes damp from the drizzling rain. When she had arrived, the sun was nearing its peak. Now, it barely breached the horizon, warming her face even as the sunshower soaked her through.

It took her a moment to realize the sun was rising, not setting, and she had been out for a full day. Exhaustion still pulled at her, but her headache was gone, at least, and she had enough strength to take to the air once more. She flew around the city, not sure exactly what she was looking for.

(A lie. She knew exactly what she wanted to find, was so afraid of not finding.)

Below, the city looked the same as ever. Despite the early hour, people were already out, cars filling the road, a few stray souls strolling along the sidewalk. They didn't even look bothered by the rain, which was more of a mist, really. Dani tugged on her sopping gloves, grimacing at the squelch of water between her fingers. That's just what happens when you lie prone in a ditch for hours in the drizzling rain.

As she flew, she found no signs of spectral activity. No ghost attacks, no ghosts. No halfas. Her heart plummeted.

Fearing the worst—fearing the truth she didn't want to believe—she finally turned toward Fenton Works.

—

At the sight of the ecto-gun, Dani pales. She scrambles to her feet, shoving Danny's old t-shirts aside, and throws herself to the farthest corner of the room.

"I didn't mean it!" she shouts.

Jack blinks, confusion marring his smile until his gaze drops to the gun in his hands and his eyes widen with realization. He quickly hides the weapon behind his back. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you."

Dani doesn't step away from the wall. Her back tingles, itching to go intangible and let her disappear into the alley just outside, away from this potential danger. But Jack's apology feels genuine. He smiles at her, though he doesn't step any further into the room. That gets Dani to relax after a few tense seconds. The tingle fades, her desire to flee going with it.

"What's the gun for?" Dani asks. It is the first thing she has said to Jack since moving into Fenton Works, she realizes. This is the most they have seen each other in four days, and she does not know what to think about that. She assumed he had been avoiding her.

"Some of our weapons used to go off around Danny," Jack says. He pulls the ecto-gun out from behind his back, this time with the barrel pointed down, and fiddles with something along the barrel. "Never really thought about why. So, I've been trying to make them safe for you to be around. I can only do so much without an ectoplasmic sample, though."

Finally, Dani steps forward, skirting around Danny's bed. Still, Jack does not make a move closer, letting her come to him. Dani stops with a few feet left between them. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

Jack shrugs. "Partly. I also never said hello."

"Hi, I guess."

Jack smiles. "Hi, Dani. Nice to officially meet you."

Dani can only meet his gaze for a few seconds. He looks a lot like Danny, with kind eyes, but that is not what bothers her. Something about the way he looks at her is different. Over the past few days, she has gotten used to Maddie and Jazz, how they look at her like she is a ghost—like she is Danny.

She casts the thought out as quickly as it comes.

"So, about that sample?" Jack presses.

Dani rubs her arms, feeling phantom prickles along the inside of her elbow. If she were to roll back her sleeves, she could easily find the pinprick scars left by Vlad's needles. In fact, she does not even need to look. Skimming the sleeve, her fingers stop, instinctively, over each scar.

"What do you need it for?" she asks.

"Your ecto-signature, mostly. But we've found that a ghost's ectoplasm has its own form of DNA beyond the ecto-signature. If we can isolate yours, we might be able to make ammunition that won't harm you," he says.

Dani squeezes her arms tighter, memories of Vlad's lab flashing through her mind. No matter how rough the nomadic lifestyle got, nothing ever compared to those first few weeks of life when she spent every second being poked and prodded, not understand how wrong that was. It makes her shiver.

"Do we have to go downstairs for it?"

Jack looks about the room, taking in the mess of Danny's clothes, and the general clutter Dani hasn't bothered to clean up during her stay. "I don't see why not. I can bring the equipment up here."

"Please."

Jack nods and leaves, returning not even a minute later with a case. He must have had it ready to go. The case looks small compared to his large hands, but when he sets it down on Danny's bed, it is nearly half as wide as the mattress. Dani floats to the top of the bed, setting herself down on the pillows while Jack gets set up. Inside, the case holds a few packaged syringes, some sample tubes, swabs, and medical plasters. Hardly enough to fill it. Most space is taken up by the foam padding that holds the delicate glass tubes in place.

"I'll need to take two or three samples if that's alright. It's easier to work with more ectoplasm. And a blood sample." Jack grabs a syringe. "If you're comfortable with that."

"I guess that's okay."

He talks throughout the entire process, describing what he is doing. While he does, Dani fixes her gaze on the shirts laid out across the bed.

"This is called a phlebotomy," Jack says as he rolls up her sleeve. "It actually refers to drawing blood from a vein, but I think ectoplasm is close enough. I need to swab the area first; it might be cold."

What little tension remained in Dani's shoulders bleeds out as Jack talks.

"First needle. I'll use this one to get your ecto-signature. We have some devices that can focus on a ghost's signature without taking a sample first, like the booo-merang, but power use and exhaustion can actually alter those results. A stable sample taken in a relaxed environment works better. We can also use it to measure how a ghost's signature changes over time. Second needle."

Dani's eyes widen. Pulling her hand back from one of the shirts, she turns and finds Jack inserting a second syringe into her arm, the first already back in the case, filled with glowing ectoplasm. She hadn't even felt it. The second needle stings, although she blames that on her watching it go in, and she quickly focuses on the shirts again.

They're plain overall, basic colours with simple graphics, and a little on the baggy side. The one she likes the most is a button-up, one of the few Danny had, with short sleeves and covered in large stars. She pulls it closer with her free hand, tracing the stars as Jack finishes with the third syringe. It does not seem like the kind of shirt Danny would wear. Too gaudy for him. Dani likes it, though.

A tap at her shoulder distracts her.

"Can you change to your human form?" Jack asks.

"Why?"

"Can't exactly draw blood from this form."

"Oh. Right." Dani chews her lip, contemplating. Except for when she's asleep, she hasn't been in human form at all the past few days. Even then, the only reason she changes is that it is easier to sleep as a human. Jazz has not asked her about it since that first day, and neither has Maddie.

In the relative safety of Fenton Works, there is no reason for her to choose one form over the other. When travelling, it is easier passing along as a ghost. Fewer people bother her then—if they don't run away screaming—and her powers come easier. Making up her mind, she closes her eyes and lets the transformation take over.

It passes in a flash, her jumpsuit disappearing, replaced by the comfortable weight of her hoodie. Unable to help herself, Dani touches the star shirt again.

Jack doesn't go for the next syringe right away. His gaze lingers on Dani's face. The weight of his stare bears down on her, but she refuses to look up.

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

The mattress shifts as Jack moves, neither closer nor farther away. A nervous jump and nothing more. "No. Everything's fine."

He only needs a few seconds to take the last sample. He presses a cotton swab against her arm, blotting the fresh needle marks to wipe away the blood, then covers it with a plaster. That last part is unnecessary since all Jack did was prick her, but Dani does not say anything. It is too funny that the Fentons even have their own plasters, covered in little fiery Fs. They really know how to lean into a brand.

"What are obsessions like?" Jack asks.

The question takes her by surprise. "I don't know."

"Really? Don't all ghosts have obsessions?"

Dani shrugs. "Probably." She isn't a ghost, though. Not a proper one. "Nothing's ever compelled me the way an obsession is supposed to. There's stuff that I like, but none of it draws me in."

"Is that how it works?"

Dani frowns. "Aren't you supposed to be a ghost scientist?"

Jack chuckles. "True, but we don't know everything about ghosts. You can only find out so much through watching them." And experimenting on them, but he doesn't mention that part. Dani doesn't need him to. "Asking one about their experiences can tell us a lot more. I can only imagine what we might have known if... if we had known."

"I guess I can tell you about them," Dani says. A good part of her education under Vlad's "care" was about different aspects of being a ghost, prepping her for the rest of her existence. A good portion of those lessons were not as necessary as Vlad thought they would be.

Jack scoots closer, nodding enthusiastically. Suddenly, he looks less like a trained scientist and more like an enthused child. The thought makes Dani giggle.

"Okay, so. I was told that an obsession can be anything. Like, food, a specific colour, an object, a person. There are no limits. Most ghosts have more than one that helps sustain them. They don't need an obsession, or they don't need to fulfill it, but it helps keep them grounded. Really old ghosts have a lot of obsessions. Young ones might only have a few."

Jack grins as Dani speaks. Even though he doesn't write anything down, she knows he won't forget a single thing. He hangs off every word, taking in Dani's lesson as easy as air.

"They can also change over time. A ghost can go from having a lot of obsessions to only a few, or the other way around. It depends. If they lean into one obsession too much, it can completely alter their personality. Having only one can be dangerous, though, because it makes them unstable. If something happens and they lose that obsession, it can really unbalance them. I can't tell you what having an obsession actually feels like, though."

"Are you sure?" Jack asks.

"Pretty sure. I think I would know if I had an obsession. And if I did but I never did anything about it? I probably wouldn't be here right now." It comes out grimmer than Dani meant it to. A ghost doesn't die without an obsession, but the way Vlad explained it, existence became painful, confusing. Hard to cope with.

Jack leans back, nodding slowly. The room falls silent for the next minute as he absorbs everything Dani said. "Did Danny ever tell you about his obsessions?"

"No. It never came up."

The answer obviously does not please Jack. His hopeful smile slips away, and he falls silent. He packs away the sample case, locking it shut, and rises from the edge of Danny's bed. As he walks away, Dani can't help but think she did something wrong.

—

After Jack leaves, Dani stays in her human form.

When Jazz comes into the room an hour later asking for some TV time, a smile breaks out across her face. "You're human."

Dani shrugs, having no better response than that.

"About time," Jazz teases. Reaching out, she ruffles Dani's hair and gives her a playful shove. Dani doesn't find it as comforting as she should.

—

"Are you sure you don't have an obsession?"

Dani nearly jumps at how close Jack's voice is. She heard him coming, since his pounding feet were hard to ignore, but hadn't realized how close he got before speaking. The plate in her hand becomes tangible again as her focus slips. The water that had been passing through sprays outward, soaking the front of her hoodie. She ignores Jazz's snicker.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Jack makes a disappointed hum. "Not even a little one?"

"Not even a little one."

He sighs but doesn't press her further. From the counter, he grabs one of the dinner plates set out, loaded with a stir-try that Jazz and Dani spent the last hour making. To Dani's surprise, he sits at the table rather than heading downstairs.

"Mads had a call, but she'll be right up," Jack says.

Dani nearly asks, "Why?" Ever since she arrived, everyone seems to have done their own thing, including during mealtimes. Having no long-term household experience, Dani was starting to think this was the norm. She looks to Jazz for an explanation but finds none.

Jazz already has her plate in hand and quickly takes the seat next to Jack. She waves Dani over. "Come on. Can't be family dinner if the whole family doesn't sit down." There is a twinge of sadness in her voice, one Dani completely understands. It's not the whole family, never will be. Jazz and Jack must be thinking the same thing, but none of them say it out loud.

Dani grabs her plate and sits down on Jack's other side.

"You don't want to sit here?" Jazz asks, patting the chair next to her.

"I'm fine here," Dani says. Her chair places her back at the wall, giving her a good view of the room. And, more importantly, the entrance. She doesn't expect a threat to come barrelling through, but it is instinct by now to keep an eye on things like doorways and windows. She can see both from here.

This is the only seat at the table she has sat at since arriving.

Jazz presses her lips together. "Are you sure? It was Danny's spot."

"Great. This is my spot."

"Jazz," Jack says. "It's just a chair."

Jazz has the mind to look embarrassed at being scolded. Dani thinks she is going to drop it there, but Jazz opens her mouth again, about to say one last remark.

A sharp intake of breath cuts her off.

Maddie, standing in the doorway, stares at Dani.

Jack and Jazz must see something Dani doesn't, because they both jump to their feet.

"Mads," Jack starts, but Maddie turns and flees before he can say anymore.

Jazz pushes her chair back. "Dad, I'll—"

"No, it's fine. You two eat." Jack goes after Maddie, leaving Jazz and a very confused Dani alone.

"What was that?" Dani asks.

Jazz sits back down. "She hasn't seen your human form before."

It hardly sates Dani's curiosity, but it's the only answer she gets.

—

Maddie's cellphone rings just as she's about to follow Jack upstairs. A glance at the caller ID shows it is an unknown number.

"I'll be up in a minute," she says.

She gets no answer from Jack, but that's expected. Ever since he came back down with Dani's ectoplasmic samples, he's been muttering about obsessions. When he gets like this, he rarely acknowledges the people around him, although over the years Maddie has learned that he still hears them. Answering them just is not high on his priority list.

She turns away from the stares and answers the phone. "Hello, this is Dr. Madeline Fenton. How can I help you?"

"That's an awfully formal way to greet a friend," Vlad says.

"What the hell are you doing, Vlad? I blocked your number."

"And I got a new one. Just hear me out, Maddie."

There's an edge of desperation in his voice. Maddie can't decide whether to roll her eyes, cuss Vlad out, or hang up immediately. Maybe all three. If he honestly tries to play that pathetic act again, she will be livid.

"You have two minutes," Maddie says. Better to hear him out now than hang up and have him leaving message after message again.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other day. It was incredibly inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. And if you're looking for forgiveness, you won't get it." She shouldn't even give him the time of day.

"I understand. And I know we've grown apart these past couple years—"

"You mean when you finally wised up, stopped hitting on me, and left us alone?"

"Yes. But I wasn't lying before, Maddie. I need you!" His tone actually makes her pause. It reminds her, briefly, of the young man she used to know. One who had to beg his family not to cut him off when they discovered his chosen career. His voice now makes her think of the day she caught him on the phone, pleading with his mother.

They had only been college freshmen, then. Vlad was hardly more than seventeen at the time, having graduated high school early. Maddie had never heard him so distraught before, or ever since. But now, his voice cracks with distress. It almost makes her feel sorry for him.

"This has been hard for me, too, for reasons you can't begin to fathom. I wasn't lying when I told you about my friendship with Daniel."

Maddie's pity for Vlad evaporates in an instant. "Stop. Don't call me again, Vlad."

"Maddie, you don't understand—!"

She hangs up before he can finish. Disgusting. She can't believe she actually felt for him for a moment. She had half a mind to call him back and tell him the truth, tell him that she knew everything. But that would mean telling him Dani was here, and Maddie was not comfortable with that. Who knows what Vlad would try if he found out the clone he created was so nearby?

She takes a moment to compose herself before heading upstairs.

When she reaches the main floor, the smell of garlic, ginger, and spice greets her. It has been a while since they had stir-fry, and even longer since they sat down at a full table. Something like this is exactly what she needs after that brief call.

Maddie steps into the kitchen and sees Danny at the table. Her breath catches in her throat. The dark hair, the baggy hoodie, the sharp edge of his nose in profile. But then he turns and it's not Danny, it's Dani. In the form Maddie had yet to see, with a face so familiar that seeing it feels like a stab to the chest.

Jack stands, calls out, but Maddie doesn't stay to listen. She bolts. Her feet carry her to the back of the house, past the weapon's lab, and out the door into their cramped backyard. She crouches on the poor, one hand cupped over her mouth.

She knew, when they took Dani in, that she looked like him. Her face wasn't so different from Phantom's. A little softer, a little less worn, but with a wary edge. Maddie knew. But she hadn't known how bad it would be when she finally saw that face in human form. Not Phantom's face, who still felt so separate from her son, but Danny's.

Maddie's willing to bet that, when Dani was first created, she looked exactly like Danny in his middle school days, before he came out and started presenting as male. If Danny hadn't started taking hormones, would he have looked like Dani does now? On the shorter side, with rounder features. It's not the same as having Danny back, not even close. No clone can ever replace her baby.

But it still hurts so much.

Maddie squeezes her eyes shut, fighting against the burn of her tears. She can't stop them, though. No matter how much she tries, rubbing her eyes, pressing the heel of her palms against them. The tears keep coming, and a sob follows soon after.

Jack's arm wraps around her shoulder, pulling her into a tight embrace. Maddie falls apart completely, then, clinging to her husband and crying into his shoulder. It isn't fair. There was so much about Danny they never got to see, never got to know. All that time they wasted trying to hunt him down.

He died too soon, too young. But worst of all, he died believing his parents hated a part of him, and Maddie can never change that.

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #nyd chapter three #trans danny #trans danny fenton

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch37: Fourteen Million, Six Hundred And Five Part 1- Wakanda Forever.

Intro: Thor, Rocker and Groot arrive on Nidevallir and the god quickly realises something is wrong. Meanwhile, on Titan, Tony is trying desperately to rally the rest of the Guardians into some sort of organised unit, whilst in Wakanda it isn’t the organisation that the rest of the Avengers is having issues with…

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So I HAD to write Thor and Tony’s POV over the IW chaptres too, because, frankly, they had some of THE best scenes in Infinity War, and I love that freaking Norse God Himbo and chaotic Stark chemistry so bad! I know this is Katie and Steve’s fic, but Steve had so little screen time in this film all things considered…we were so robbed!!! @angrybirdcr once again, beautiful editing!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 36 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Oh how Thor missed his hammer! How had it all gone so terribly wrong? He’d left Earth and his friends three years ago to go hunting those wretched stones and had failed, miserably. Now his Father was dead, his brother was dead, Heimdel was dead, half his people were dead. His home planet was gone, he only had one eye, and if he didn’t stop Thanos then his friends on Earth weren’t going to fare much better than the ones on Asgard had.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, his left knee jiggling a little bit with nervous anticipation as his mind flickered to Little Stark and the Captain. He wondered how they’d been getting on, how the few years post their marriage had been for them, whether there were any Little Little Starks or Little Caps roaming around…

“So, dead brother, huh?” Thor looked up to see the rabbit was stood a few feet away, pressing buttons on a screen as he spoke. “Yeah that can be annoying.”

“Well, he’s been dead before.” Thor huffed. "But this time, I think it really might be true.”

“And you said that your sister and your dad…”

“Both dead."

"You guys still got a mom, though?” The Rabbit pressed.

“Killed by a dark elf.” Thor replied, monotonously.

“Best friend?”

“Stabbed through the heart.”

“And you sure you’re up for this particular murder mission?” Rocket asked, frowning slightly.

“Absolutely!” Thor forced a smile, as he looked at the animal “Rage and vengeance, anger, loss, regret. They’re all tremendous motivators. They really clear the mind. So I’m err, good to go.” He nodded firmly, making a fist.

"Yeah, but this is Thanos we’re talking about he’s the toughest there is.”

“Well, he’s never fought me.” Thor deadpanned.

“Yeah, he has.” Rocket shrugged, and Thor took a deep breath.

“Well, he’s never fought me twice. And I’ll be getting a new hammer, don’t forget.”

“Well, it’d better be some hammer.”

There was a pause before Thor took a breath.

“You know, I’m fifteen hundred years old,” he began, looking at nothing in particular as he pondered over things. "I’ve killed twice as many enemies and every enemy I have faced would have rather killed me, but none succeeded. I am only still alive because fate wants me to be.” At that point he paused and couldn’t help but smile at a conversation he had had with the Captain about fate bringing him and Little Stark together. The Captain didn’t believe in fate, but he did. "Thanos is just the latest in a long line of bastards, and he’ll be the latest to feel my vengeance.” Thor nodded firmly as he concluded. “Fate wills it so."

"Mhm.” Rocket hummed hesitating, but he knew he had to ask, “And what if you’re wrong?”

“Well if I’m wrong, what else could I lose?” Thor sniffed, and wiped at the tear that had escaped from his eye before he headed to the front of the pod to take a seat.

“Well, if fate does want you to kill that crap-sack, you’re gonna need more than one stupid eyeball.” Rocket held out his paw as he headed to the seat in front of Thor.

“What’s this?” Thor frowned, eyeing the object that the rabbit had given him.

“What’s it look like? Some jerk lost a bet with me in Contraxia.”

“He gave you his eye in return?” Thor frowned.

“No, he gave me a hundred credits. I snuck into his room later that night and stole his eye.”

“Thank you, sweet rabbit.” Thor smiled, pulling the patch off of his left eye to push the eyeball into the socket.

Rocket grimaced. “Ooh, errr, I would’ve washed that before, erm…” He swallowed and shook his head. “The only way I could sneak it off Contraxia was up my-” He was cut off as an alarm started. “Hey we’re here.”

Thor frowned as he stood up to get a closer look out of the front of the pod. “I don’t think this thing works,” he slapped at the side of his head, his new eye spinning in the socket. “Everything seems dark.”

“That’s not the eye.” Rocket took a deep breath as they all stared out of the cockpit at the black sky and surrounding area in space.

They docked and slowly made their way off the pod and carefully made their walked across the dark terrain of the planet.

“I hope these dwarves are better at forging than they are at cleaning.” Rocket looked around at the junk that lay all over the place as Thor glanced over the deserted area, a puzzled expression on his face. “Hey, maybe they realized they live in a junk pile in the middle of space.”

"The forge hasn’t gone dark in centuries.” Thor shook his head. No, he could feel it. Something was very, very wrong.

“You said Thanos had a gauntlet, right?” Rocket stopped walking.

“Yes. Why?” Thor asked, searching the sky. For what he didn’t know.

“Did it look anything like that?”

Thor turned and looked over to where Rocket was pointing and his blood ran cold as he saw, sitting upon one of the stone tables, a mould for the gauntlet Thanos was wearing when he attacked his ship. Suddenly, realisation washed over him.

Thanos had been here. And that wasn’t good. At all. In fact it was about as far from good as anything could be.

“I am Groot?”

“Go back to the pod.” Thor commanded before something struck him hard and he went flying through the air as Rocket and Groot scattered in the opposite direction.

Thor pushed himself up, and turning round, he saw the large mass coming towards him. Scrambling backwards he fell against something, hard and held his hands up, palms open in a placating manner.

“Eitri, wait!” He called loudly. “Stop! It’s me!”

"Thor?” The Dwarf paused, fist still raised as Thor gave a node. “Is that you?”

There was a pause and the Dwarf dropped his hand slightly. Thor swallowed and looked up at him, taking a deep breath. “What happened here?” The god asked.

“You were supposed to protect us!” the Dwarf cried, his voice cracking “Asgard was supposed to protect us!”

“Asgard is destroyed,” Thor choked out, getting to his feet. He pointed to the gauntlet on the table. “Eitri the glove, what did you do?”

Eitri let out a shuddering breath as he stumbling over to a wall and fell heavily upon it, sliding down to the floor. “Three hundred dwarves lived on this ring. I thought if I did what he asked, they’d be safe. I made what he wanted. A device capable of harnessing the power of the stones. And he killed everyone anyway. All except me. ‘Your life is yours,’ he said. 'But your hands…your hands are mine alone.’” With that the dwarf raised both his hands and Thor felt his eyes widen as he saw they were covered in in metal from the forge.

Thor paused, but then he shook his head. No, this wouldn’t do. He needed a new hammer. There had to be a way.

Even in the word can’t there’s the word can…

Little Stark’s voice echoed in his head, a line he had heard her say once to Barton just before the archer had thrown a pop tart at her head. Man he would kill for a pop tart right now.

But no, she was right. He wasn’t giving up

“Eitri, this isn’t about your hands”. Thor shook his head. “Every weapon you’ve ever designed, every axe, hammer, sword it’s all inside your head. Now I know it feels like all hope is lost. Trust me, I know. But together, we can kill Thanos.”

***** Tony, Peter and Dr Strange had arrived on Titan. But they were greeted with a not-so-welcoming party. After a bit of a struggle, Tony had some blue faced dude on his back, repulsor raised whilst one of the other guys had Parker in a headlock, gun pointed at his head. As they faced off against each other, the man pointing the gun at Peter spoke.

“Alright, everybody, stay where you are, chill the eff out.” His helmet disappeared to reveal a dark haired man, his eyes darted across the three of them. “I’m gonna ask you this one time. Where’s Gamora?” What the fuck?

Tony gave a groan of exasperation as he removed his helmet and looked at the man. “Yeah, I’ll do you one better. Who’s Gamora?” “I’ll do you one better!” The man under Tony’s foot spoke “Why is Gamora?”

”Tell me where the girl is, or I swear to you, I’m gonna French-fry this little freak.” The man tightened his hand on Parker and Tony felt his temper snap.

“Let’s do it! You shoot my guy, I blast him. Let’s go!” He yelled, extended his nano-tech cannon and pointing it straight at the guys face.

“Do it, Quill! I can take it.” The man snarled at him.

Jesus Christ it was like arguing with Rogers.

“No, he can’t take it!” The woman with the strange antennae insisted.

“She’s right. You can't.” Dr Strange but in, completely deadpan, his tone bored.

“Oh yeah? You don’t wanna tell me where she is? That’s fine. I’ll kill all three of you and beat it out of Thanos myself.” The man they now knew to be Quill glanced at Parker. “Starting with you.”

“Wait, what. Thanos?” Before Tony could say anything, Strange beat him to it. “Alright, let me ask you this one time, what master do you serve?”

”What master do I serve?” Quill looked at him, sarcasm dripping from his voice and body language. “What am I supposed to say, Jesus?”

“You’re from Earth?” Tony looked at him, suddenly cottoning on.

“I’m not from Earth. I’m from Missouri”

“Yeah, that’s on Earth, dip-shit.” Tony spat, with the tone of someone talking to a very, very stupid person, which in all fairness he appeared to be doing. “What are you hassling us for?”

“So, you’re not with Thanos?” Parker spoke for the first time.

“WITH Thanos?!” Quill scoffed indignantly “No, I’m here to kill Thanos! He took my girl. Wait… who are you?”

“We’re the Avengers, man.” Parker remoeved his helmet and mask.

“Oh” Quill relaxed his hold a little.

“You’re the ones Thor told us about!” The bug looking woman exclaimed excitedly.

“You know Thor?” Tony whipped round to face her, barely keeping the excitement out of his voice. They could use Point Break, man could they use him!

“Yeah. Tall guy, not that good-looking,” Quill sniffed as Parker gave him an incredulous look, “needed saving.”

Dr Strange paused before he asked the question Tony was dying to know the answer to. “Where is he now?”

“Took my pod, my food, my rucksack and went off to find a new hammer to kill Thanos with.” Quill shrugged as he released Parker completely. Dr Strange and Tony exchanged a crestfallen look. It didn’t appear like they were going to get any help from Thor where they were but maybe, just maybe, the rest of the Avengers would.

As they were now allies of sorts, the group all introduced themselves properly and Quill began to walk around the ground, holding out some kind of scanner, or spirit measure, Tony wasn’t sure which.

“What the heck happened to this planet? Its eight degrees off its axis.” He muttered “Gravitational pull is all over the place.”

In the background Mantis was jumping up and down, floating higher than she should have been able to, almost as if she was jumping on some trampoline. Tony watched her for a second before an idea formed in his mind.

“Yeah, we got one advantage. He’s coming to us. We’ll use it.” He said, firmly. “All right, I have a plan” he looked round at the group, “or at least the beginnings of one. It’s pretty simple. We draw him in, pin him down, get what we need. Definitely don’t wanna dance with this guy. We just want the gauntlet.”

At that Drax gave a loud yawn and Tony glared at him.

“Are you yawning? In the middle of this, while I’m breaking it down? Huh? Did you hear what I said?”

“I stopped listening after you said we need a plan.” Drax shrugged honestly

“Okay, Mr. Clean is on his own page.” Tony looked at Quill for help.

“See, not winging it, isn’t really what they do” Quill pulled a face, almost apologetically.

“Uh, what exactly is it that they do?” Parker asked.

“Kick names, take ass.” Mantis replied with all the ferocity of an eight week old kitten.

“Yeah, that’s right” Drax nodded as he settled into a stance, facing the remaining Avengers.

Right there Tony took it all back. This was nothing like trying to deal with Rogers.

Cap was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, but he was smart. He would listen and would get them to listen too. As Tony paused, for the first time in ages actually wishing Rogers was in front of him, an expression of deep hopelessness crossed his face before he spoke again “Alright, just get over here, please. Mr. Lord, can you get your folks to circle up?”

“Mr. Lord, Star-Lord is fine.” Quill motioned to Drax and Mantis to come and listen.

“We gotta coalesce.” Tony tried again in a softer voice. “ Cause if all we come at him with is a plucky attitude…”

“Dude, don’t call us plucky. We don’t know what it means.” Quill shook his head, and internally Tony died a little more. Alright, we’re optimistic, yes. I like your plan. Except it sucks, so let me do the plan, and that way it might be really good.”

“Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe.” Drax interjected.

“What dance-off?” Tony frowned.

“It’s not a… it’s not… it’s nothing” Quill shook his head.

“Like in Footloose, the movie?” Parker interjected.

“Exactly like Footloose!” Quill looked at him excitedly “Is it still the greatest movie in history?

“It never was.”

“Don’t encourage this, alright?” Tony rounded on the kid as Quill wore an expression that looked like the wind had been completely sucked out of his sails. “We’re getting no help from Flash Gordon here”.

“Flash Gordon? By the way, that’s a compliment. Don’t forget, I’m half human” Quill pointed at Tony and Peter “So that fifty-percent of me that’s stupid? That’s a hundred-percent you.”

“Your math is blowing my mind.” Tony deadpanned.

“Excuse me, but…” Mantis spoke, and Tony looked at her, before his attention was taken by Strange and he frowned again. “Does your friend often do that?

The Wizard was sitting cross-legged, floating slightly above the ground, his hands poised in a mystic gesture with the Time Stone glowing brightly in the pendant round his neck. Green vapour like energy swirled around him, his cloak billowing behind, as if caught on a breeze. His head was jerking rapidly from side to side, the motion blurring, but almost like he was looking for something.

Tony stepped towards him “Strange! We alright?”

Suddenly, Strange snapped out of his trance and fell forward, letting out a cry. Tony gently caught him.

“You’re back. You’re alright”

“Hey, what was that?” Parker asked.

“I went forward in time to view alternate futures,” Strange panted slightly as he caught his breath, looking at Tony, eyes wide, “to see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict.

“How many did you see?” Quill asked

“Fourteen million, six hundred and five.”

Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to the next question, but he asked it anyway. “How many did we win?

There was a pregnant pause as Dr Strange stared intently at him for a moment before he took a deep breath and looked Tony straight in the eyes. “One.”

*****

"How are we looking, Bruce?” Natasha spoke nto the coms device glancing back over her shoulder, prompting Katie to do the same, where she could see Bruce running behind the hovercrafts in the giant Hulk buster suit. He’d been unable to get the Hulk to come out, sheepishly explaining they were having issues, so Steve had suggested calmly as everyone else had almost had a meltdown, that this was the next best thing.

“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Bruce responded sounding excited, “it’s so amazing! Man it’s like being the Hulk without actually…” He was cut off as he tripped over a piece of rock jutting out of the ground and crashed to the floor. Katie sighed and turned her attention back out across the vast Wakandan land.

“I’m ok. I’m ok!”

“Steve,” Katie swallowed, catching her husband’s attention. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, but she found she didn’t really know what she wanted to say. She was worried, scared, underprepared.

“I know.” Steve responded with a soft voice, instantly understanding her, he always did. He reached round to pull her to him, his left arm over her shoulder, trying to lend her some comfort as they continued their journey, the wind whipping their hair as they sped across the planes.

Eventually the hovercrafts began to slow before they came to a stop, the Wakandan warriors easily jumping off the side of the craft and falling into line. Steve hopped down, turning to Katie, both his hands on her waist as she jumped and he lifted her down, her feet landing on the dry, brown grass of the Serengeti that stretched for miles around them.

"Alright I’ve got two heat signatures breaking through the treeline.” Rhodey informed from high above. Instantly, Steve and Katie’s eyes flew upwards to watch him zooming overhead as T'Challa in his panther suit led them all to the centremost group where the Wakandans had started up a war chant.

“Thank you for standing with us.” The king spoke to a large man dressed in furs getting his own block ready for battle. The man said something in their language shaking T'Challa’s hand, before the king looked back at the barrier and the ships surrounding it and then turned to Steve who nodded. Katie took a deep breath and pressed the star on her bangle. The nano-particles spread up her arm, across her chest and down, encasing her completely in her suit.

Steve’s eyebrow raised at the action. “So that’s new.” He quipped, a sideways smile spreading across his face and Katie shrugged.

“Nano-tech, apparently.” She engaged her helmet and began running her scanners. “I can’t get a lock on what’s in those ships though.”

“Well, let’s go find out.” Steve suggested gently, and along with Natasha and T’Challa, they headed to the edge of the dome. The tall, blue haired woman they had grappled with in Edinburgh was there with a huge beast they hadn’t seen before, one of the ones that had attacked New York. As they watched, she drew her sword across the force field which fizzled as she tested the strength, cocking her head to the side.

“Where’s your other friend?” Katie asked her and Steve almost rolled his eyes at her deliberate dig. The woman glared at her.

“You will pay for his life with yours. Thanos will have that stone.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Steve’s voice remained even, not a threat as such, simply a statement, as he raised his chin and looked her straight in the face.

T’Challa, however, was much more aggressive as he spoke and Katie looked at him, surprised by the normally mild mannered man’s fierce tone.

“You are in Wakanda now.” He glared at their foes. “Thanos will have nothing but dust and blood.”

“We have blood to spare.” The Woman smirked a little as she brandished her sword with a snarl. Behind her, the ships started raising their outer hulls.

Knowing that was about as much a conversation as they were getting, and as much of one as he wanted, Steve gestured with his head and the four of them made their way back. Steve made sure Katie and Natasha were in front of him, just in case, and every so often he threw a glance over his shoulder as the ships continued to open.

“They surrender?” Bucky asked as Steve took up his place at his best friend’s side, Katie falling in line to Steve’s right.

“Not exactly.” Steve huffed.

Katie glanced round Steve over to Bucky and nodded to the gun in his hand “Sure you can handle that, sweetheart?”

Steve let out a snort and his mouth curved into a grin as he recalled Bucky saying the same thing to her almost two years previously. Bucky gave a bark of a laugh and winked at Katie who raised an eyebrow, smirking. Then the three of them turned their attention back to the edge of the dome and, as they watched, a horde of what looked like mutated dogs rushed through the trees and foliage, heading straight for the barrier.

T'Challa began to chant with his army, repeating the war-cry loudly, as the blue horned woman thrust her sword down and the creatures rushed forward smashing themselves into the barrier without care.

“What the hell?” Bucky muttered watching the creatures try to force themselves in, but every limb and body part that passed through the field ended up being cut off.

“Looks like we pissed her off.” Nat pointed out.

“Just a little.” Katie turned her head to look at her.

Steve remained still, observing, sizing up his opponent as ever, not flinching an inch even when he spotted that some of the creatures managed to get halfway through before they were cut in half.

“They’re killing themselves.” Okoye breathed in shock as the creatures carried on.

The front line of the blocks of warriors quickly raised their shields when they noticed a small handful of the creatures had actually managed to get through, their badly burnt bodies cantering across the plains towards them. With a command from T'Challa the army began firing weapons at a few that drew near.

“Honey.” Steve turned to Katie, taking a deep breath. He didn’t want her to leave his side but they needed all the fire power they had. With a nod, and a quick squeeze of his hand, she engaged her helmet and launched herself into the air.

She drew up alongside Sam, who turned his head to grin at her as she sped alongside him. Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but put herself into a little twirl, allowing the euphoria at being up there again, fully suited after so long, to take her away for a moment. But then, it was down to business and the two of them began to work in tandem, dropping missiles and bombs at the stragglers.

“You see the teeth on those things?” Sam’s astonished voice said

“Alright, Kiddo, let’s go. Back up, Sammy,” Rhodey warned, as he flew along the edge of the dome, dropping more bombs on the creatures that were still partially getting through, “you’ll get your wings singed.”

Katie surged forward, taking the opposite side of the dome, engaging her shoulder cannons, blasting away the ones underneath, but then FRIDAY locked onto some of the creatures on either end of the swarm who had begun to make their way further from the main pile running along the outside of the barrier that circled the city.

“They’re spreading out!” Katie called in warning.

“Cap, if these things circle the perimeter and get in behind us,” Bruce echoed, “there’s nothing between them and Vision.”

“Then we better keep them in front of us.” Steve responded calmly, his gaze not once faltering as he simply watched the edge of the dome.

“How do we do that?” Okoye scoffed.

“We open the barrier,” T’Challa replied with resolve. Steve turned to look at him, taking a deep breath. “On my signal, open Northwest Section Seventeen.”

“Requesting confirmation my king…you said open the barrier?”

“On my signal.” He confirmed his instructions.

Steve lifted his arms, engaging the shields that T’Challa had given him, as Sam and Katie continued to circle high up, shooting a few more strays before they flew over the assembled troops, hovering and waiting for the command.

T’Challa stepped forward before the armies, crossing his arms before his chest. “Wakanda forever!” he cried out.

“Wakanda forever!” was the answering shout from his people before they all took off running for the barrier.

“NOW!” T'Challa shouted into his communicator, and a small portion of the barrier opened, allowing the creatures to spill.

Steve ran with T’challa, the pair of them forging ahead of the running army at super speed as they sprinted in unison. Upon reaching a shallow stream, they both launched themselves up and over, propelling themselves at the creatures and from there the battle was on.

Katie was swooping, shooting, diving, taking out as many of the creatures as she could. The weapons upgrades Tony had made were amazing-she had the ability to turn her gauntlet into a sword of sorts, she had a shield, guns…you name it and FRIDAY was on hand to remind her exactly what she had and automatically use them when needed. All in all, it was the best Supernova suit her brother had ever developed, and she felt hopeful that his latest Iron Man one would be good enough to keep him safe wherever he was.

Steve, meanwhile, was hammering the pointed end of his shields into any of the creatures that came near enough. Bucky was gunning down those that came towards him, the Wakandan Warriors were using their spears and guns. The animals weren’t hard to take down, a decent hook or shot to the head did it, but they were persistent and there was so damned many of them…

“How much longer, Shuri?” T'Challa’s voice rang in Steve’s ear as he kicked another one of the animals straight in the mouth sending it flying.

“We’ve barely begun, brother!”

“You might want to pick up the pace!” T’Challa urged.

“Please do…” Steve found himself muttering as he pounded another of the creatures, feeling its scull crush beneath his knuckles.

*****

Thor had managed to get the Forge started again, using the pod and a large rope to pull the stuck rings into a spin, but then the iris had snapped, leaving nothing for it. He had to open it himself.

“All-fathers, give me strength.” He mumbled as he rolled his shoulders preparing to grab either side of the iris.

“You understand, boy?” Eitri warned. “You’re about to take the full force of a star. It’ll kill you.”

“Only if I die.” Thor cracked his neck as he took a deep breath. He had to survive, fate willed it, he was going to kill Thanos.

”Yes. That’s what…killing you means.” Eitri frowned, utterly boggled at Thor’s words.

Thor pulled down on the two levers, bringing them towards him and the iris began to open. The stream of pure, stellar energy blasted past him and into the forge once more. Thor grit his teeth as the force of the full beam of the star burned through him, like nothing he had ever felt before.

“Hold it! Hold it, Thor!”

The metal ingots began to melt and Thor let out a yell as he felt his skin burning, until he could hold it no more and his grip slipped. He fell down into the forge, bouncing limply off a structure and landing on the floor, harshly as Rocket, who had followed in the pod, grimaced. The thud Thor’s body made as it landed was enough to make Groot look up from his game.

“Thor! Say something. Come on. Thor, you okay?” Rocket asked, looking at the god who appeared as far from okay as you could get.

Eitri was clumsily and urgently pulling the mould, which was still glowing red hot. onto the floor. He broke it loose from the frame, punching it with his metal fists to free the axe head.

“I think he’s dying!” Rocket stuttered, looking up urgently for help

“He needs the axe!” Eitri said, frantically “Where’s the handle? Tree, help me find the handle!”

As the two sides of the axe head lay glowing on the floor, Groot looked sadly at Thor, as Eitri was desperately searchin for the handle. Then, realising he could help, the tree scowled with determination and stood, extending his fingers towards the parts of the axe-head, growing them at extraordinary speed. As he twined them around the metal, he cried out at the burning pain but didn’t hesitate, slamming them together and locking them permanently into one structure by winding the growing vines around them. He raised it high above his head and, with a mighty cry, chopped his extended arm with the other hand to sever it.

Thor lay motionless, but then his fingers twitched, and the new weapon levitated in a crackle of lightning echoed by the sparks between the God’s fingers…

***** Chapter 37 Part 2

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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fantasticstoryteller · 4 years ago

Text

New Amsterdam Chapter 17

“Peter, Jamison wants you in his office.”

Peter winced and clutched the handle of his bag defensively. “I’m not late!” he said desperately.

Beth rolled her eyes at him, purple eye shadow glinting in the office lights. “It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “He wants you in his office now.”

Peter knew better than to argue. The whole staff of the Daily Bugle knew better than to argue. He quickly made his way through the crowded halls of the Bugle to Jamison’s office and timidly knocked to introduce himself before going in. Standing at Jamison’s desk was another man, a guy with short, pitch black hair, who looked about as happy as Jamison—i.e. not at all. “I’m here, Mr. Jamison,” said Peter nervously.

“Peter, meet Eddie. Eddie, this is Peter. What have you got for me today, Peter?” demanded Jamison’s harshly. Peter could hear the crunching noise as he savagely chewed through the candy he’d taken to eating when he’d stopped smoking.

Peter quickly reached into his bag and pulled out the pictures he’d taken before handing them to his boss. “He—hello,” he stammered towards Eddie. The man just glared at him and Peter tried to retreat further into himself.

He found himself wishing, as Jamison went through the photos, that Wade was with him. He had no doubt that Wade’s presence might just antagonize his coworkers at the Bugle more—but Peter found his presence reassuring. He felt warm and safe with Wade and none of that had anything to do with how Wade was determined to not only respect Spiderman’s identity, but defend him against what anyone else had to say about the subject. Nope. Not at all.

Jamison slammed one of the photos onto the desk and Peter jumped—and then stared, confused. It wasn’t one of his best works; the lines were blurred and it was difficult to see what was going on. Why would Jamison draw attention to t his one?

“See that, Eddie?” growled Jamison. “This is the worst of Parker’s photos. And this,” he added as he slammed down another one—showing Iron Man and Black Widow in battle with a faceless (literally) man, “This is the quality he usually brings me. You want his job? Do it better.”

Peter first glowed at the rare (exceptionally rare) praise until he realized the other man wanted his job. Why? The Bugle didn’t even pay that much, and Peter knew for a fact that they negotiated to sell the photos to other newspapers and sites. He cringed away from the sudden death glare he was getting from the other man.

“Parker, the printer’s acting up again,” growled Jamison.

Peter didn’t have to be told twice. “Yes, Sir,” he said quickly retreating from the office. Beth looked up and smirked at him. “You knew,” he whispered, feeling betrayed.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I knew. Just as I know that he’ll be hired anyway, because Jamison loves his turn of invective phrase. And when you’re done with the printer I need help with the website.”

Peter nodded jerkily and went to get a set of the company over-alls that they used for the printing press in the basement. The thing was old, and was always jamming. It was easy enough to fix—and messy enough that only people at the bottom of the hierarchy (Peter) were sent to do it. He cleared the old blockage and closed the lid before jumping back at the sight of Eddie staring at him.

Eddie regarded him through narrowed eyes. “How do you do it?” he demanded suspiciously.

“I—uh, I take out the old paper to clear the blockage before refilling with new paper,” said Peter warily as he moved, cautiously, towards the door. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly sharing a room with Eddie—the man looked at him like he was scum and his senses were giving a low-level, irritating buzz.

“Not that,” said Eddie. His tone was casual. His body language was anything but. “I mean the pictures.”

Peter was even more confused. “The pictures? Well, the programming does most of the work—”

“The pictures you take,” growled Eddie through clenched teeth. “How do you know the best places to be?”

Oh. Oh. Peter nervously fidgeted with the safety goggles he was wearing. “I work at Stark Industries,” he said, “and they’re pretty good about assistants taking odd breaks as long as all the work gets done.”

“What does that—oh.” Eddie regarded Peter with a little bit more respect. “So you use the information you get at work to know when and where to go.”

“It’s not secret information,” Peter said quickly. He didn’t want anyone to think he was stealing secrets from Mr. Stark. “They announce it over the intercom. The only times I can’t go is when they’re expecting something to attack the Tower and lock it down with everyone inside.” The buzz wasn’t diminishing, and Peter swallowed. “I’ve got to—I’ve got to go,” he said quickly before fleeing.

He carefully hung the ink stained over-alls back up, grabbed his bag, and clocked out before leaving. He fled the building and then sighed as he trudged back home. He had some money from Jamison—but he was going to have to use it for the rest of his rent, some food, and some more medical supplies. His first aid kit was dangerously low, and he didn’t have anything to eat at home. The food he’d gotten at Oscorp was already wearing thin. Not for the first time, he cursed his quick metabolism.

“Petey-Pie!” called a familiar voice.

Peter whirled to see the familiar red and black figure coming towards him. “Wade!” he said happily right before he was squeezed in a hug.

“Oh, Petey-Pie! It’s been forever since I hugged you!”

Peter reached around the mercenary to hug him back and felt tense muscles relaxing. “You liar,” he said fondly. “It was just four o’clock this afternoon.”

“Do you know how many chapters that was Petey?” whined Wade. “I need my Peter fix!” He rubbed his masked cheek against Peter’s bare one and the stitches rasped against his face.

“Chapters?” he asked in confusion. “Are you reading a book?”

“I’d tell ya, Pete,” said Wade as he held the smaller man, “but you’d think I was crazy.”

Peter chuckled and gently squeezed in a return hug. “You are crazy,” he said fondly.

Crazy enough to believe he could change.

Crazy enough to believe Spiderman had a good reason for keeping his identity secret.

Crazy enough to get close to Peter Parker.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Wade said.

Peter leaned back enough to where he could look into the whites of Wade’s mask. “Who says it’s a bad thing?” he challenged. “I—”

“So this is how you get your information,” said voice, dripping with disgust. Peter broke way enough to see Eddie behind them. The raw disgust on his face was enough to make him take a step back, and the mere sight brought back that low-level warning buzz. “Fucking the freaks.”

“Hmm. Peter, who is this?” asked Deadpool as he tucked himself around Peter again.

“This is Eddie. I think he’s my coworker?” Jamison had mentioned something about Eddie wanting his job—but why? It just didn’t pay that much, and no one like to wrangle the printer.

“Oh? Hello Eddie. I’d offer to shake your hand, but I’m hugging my baby boy right now.” The arm around Peter’s waist tightened slightly, and the other crossed Peter’s torso. Peter would have relaxed into the embrace—if he hadn’t been all too aware of the fact that Deadpool had just moved his hand closer to his sword.

Eddie put both his hands in his pockets—and Peter winced. Deadpool had once sliced the arms off of a crook who did that (I swear he was reaching for a gun, and you’re not bullet-proof Spidey!) and Peter waited anxiously to see what would happen. Eddie simply left his hands there, and chuckled.

The sound was disturbingly similar to what Norman had uttered as Harry was recovering from nearly dying in the office.

“I just want to get an edge, that’s all,” Eddie said with a sly grin. Without looking at Peter he asked, “Peter, do you believe in the concept of fair play?”

“Um—yes?”

“Do you believe that in a competition to see who is truly the best, both people should be on equal footing?

“…yes?”

The grin widened. “Excellent. Hey, Deadpool. How about you give me a heads up, next time shit’s going down?”

Deadpool tucked his chin into the crook of Peter’s neck and there was a slight change—an almost relaxation that left him somewhere between Deadpool and Wade. “Hmm. That does sound fair.” Eddie smirked. “But, I won’t do it. You upset my little Petey-Pie, and the only reason you’re still breathing is because Spidey Senpai would be mad at me.” He rubbed his cheek against Peter’s again. “And just as Baby Boy believes in fair play, he also believes in honesty. Don’t you Baby Boy?”

“We—well, it’s always important to try to be truthful,” Peter said. He couldn't tell anyone he was Spiderman—but he didn’t deny it either. Actually, he was more careful that it didn’t come up. He wasn’t sure if that counted as lying or not.

Deadpool heaved an exaggerated sigh. “There you go. If Spidey asked Petey-Pie if I killed someone, Petey would tell the truth. So you live. Now live somewhere I’m not tempted.” He took his gloved hand away from Peter’s shoulder and made shooing motion with it. Eddie growled—but left. Peter let out a low, slow breath and relaxed as Wade cuddled him close again. “I don’t know how to say this, but you need a bodyguard.”

Peter really wouldn't put it past Eddie to ambush him in an alley on the way home. While he could fight off the other reporter—he couldn't do it without telling people he was Spiderman. “True,” he said. He looked up at Wade’s chin. “Want to come shopping with me? I got paid today.”

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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